


Finder's Keepers

by skywardsmiles



Series: Beyond the Sea [1]
Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:52:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywardsmiles/pseuds/skywardsmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prequel to Beyond the Sea. In which student!Joe meets professor!Pete, and inappropriate things happen. Also, penguins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finder's Keepers

Pete didn’t drink much anymore, but when he did, he was willing to make the drive to his favorite dive bar in Schiller Park. No one from DePaul ever ventured out that far, which meant, unlike back in the city, there was no chance of running into any students or fellow faculty members. And that was just fine with Pete.

He unwound the scarf from his neck as he took a seat at the bar, motioning for a scotch. It wasn’t his favorite, but it would warm him up from the cold Chicago winter that had just started to make its presence known.

He was halfway through the drink before Jon showed up, cheeks red from the cold and shaking out of his coat as he hopped down beside Pete. “One day,” he muttered, eyeing Pete darkly, “we are going to switch things up and go somewhere closer.”

Pete laughed quietly. “I like it here. It’s the bar where no one knows my name. The anti-Cheers.”

Jon nodded, looking entirely unconvinced. “But if you keep coming back, they will eventually figure it out.”

“I’ll lie.”

Jon shook his head, but he was smiling as he clinked his beer bottle to Pete’s half-empty glass. They didn’t get to see each other nearly as much as Pete would have liked. With a real job now, no matter how hard he fought it, it seemed like Pete’s partying days were slowly dwindling, being replaced by long nights of grading really boring essays, or trying to make his way through even more boring faculty dinners. Drinks with Jon felt like the light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel.

“So,” Jon said, breaking Pete’s thoughts, “you coming over for poker night on Friday? Tom will be there.”

“You’d think Cassie would love you enough to make you stop losing your money.” Under the counter, Jon’s foot nudged his. “But I’ll take easy cash.”

Behind them, a band started up. It was the other reason Pete liked this place – occasionally, they had live music. It was never very good, but sometimes the thrum of a real bass line was so much better than a radio blaring overhead. He and Jon turned to watch, wincing at the way the singer began butchering everything he sang, from Springsteen to Green Day, and the way the drummer couldn’t even keep a steady beat.

“Jesus,” Jon whispered. “Even we were better than that.”

Pete let out a surprised laugh, tipping his head forward. “Oh god. We did suck.”

“Not as much as them.”

“The guitarist isn’t bad,” Pete said, tracking his movements on stage. His fingers moved steadily over the guitar with well-practiced ease, and of the four boys, he had the most stage presence. “He’s kind of good.”

“How can you tell?” Jon asked, turning back around and motioning for another round of beers. “All I hear is noise. Make it stop.”

Pete laughed and downed the last of his scotch. It burned going down, but it was a dull, pleasant ache. “He’s kind of cute, too,” he murmured, grinning into his glass as Jon groaned.

Jon pressed a cold bottle into Pete’s palm, shaking his head. “He looks younger than your _students_.”

“So? That means he’s not one.”

“You are such a pervert,” Jon laughed. “How’s work?”

This time, it was Pete’s turn to groan. “The world of academia is definitely not what I expected.”

“I could have told you that,” Jon countered, and politely declined to mention that he had told Pete, many times. “Shouldn’t you be out saving beached dolphins or something? What about that research thing next fall you were telling me about?”

“I don’t know if the university will let me go,” Pete admitted, shrugging. “Do I really want to go to Antarctica, anyway? It’ll be fucking cold.”

“It’s cold here.”

“Somehow,” Pete said slowly, “I don’t think it’s the same.”

Then Jon launched into a story about his latest gallery show, and Pete was content to listen and nod encouragingly every once in awhile, nursing his new beer. They only got through one more before Jon gave him a friendly hug and said, “I gotta get back, or Cassie really won’t let me play poker on Friday.”

“Go, go,” Pete said, waving him off. “I’m going to stick around for a little bit.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid?”

“Me?” Pete asked, flashing him a wide smile. “Never!”

Jon just laughed as he left, and Pete’s attention was re-directed back toward the band on stage. It looked like they were winding down, most of their energy gone, except for that guitarist. He did a high-kick off one of the speakers, and Pete was actually impressed.

Despite whatever Jon thought, he had no real intention of stalking the guy, but when he came up to the bar after they’d loaded up their equipment, it was too hard not to say anything.

“You’re the only one who can actually play,” he said, and startlingly blue eyes turned to stare at him. He looked nervous as he rubbed the back of his neck and laughed, though it sounded forced.

“Yeah, well.”

Pete wasn’t giving up quite so easily. “You should get a different band,” he said, and when he caught the bartender’s attention, motioned for another round. “A good band.”

The kid still looked a bit confused, and he definitely wasn’t reaching for the beer in front of him. Maybe Pete had read him all wrong.

“That’s easier said than done,” he said, lightly, and this time Pete laughed, flashing him his least-creepy smile.

“Don’t I know it. But sit down. It’s on me.”

He still didn’t figure the kid was 21, and if the way the bartender was eyeing him warily was any indication, Pete was right.

“I’m Pete,” he said after taking a sip. “But more importantly, who are you?”

“Joe,” the guy said, quickly holding out a hand for Pete to shake, and the formality of the action was endearing, in some misguided way. Did Joe even realize Pete was trying to flirt? He stepped up his game.

“You’re kind of cute,” he said, and maybe that wasn’t quite what he’d meant to say, but Joe’s cheeked reddened in a way that Pete could appreciate, a slow blush rising to his neck and making Pete want to see just how far that blush spread.

Joe pulled his hand back, seeming flustered. “That’s um, okay.” He took a hasty sip of his beer, before adding, “A lot of people would disagree.”

Joe still didn’t seem to quite get it, so this time, Pete leaned in close, letting his breath brush against Joe’s ear. “A lot of people aren’t me.”

“Well, no,” Joe was saying, tilting his head to the side, away from Pete. “If a lot of people were you, you’d either have like, a problem with your identity being stolen or you’d be a clone.”

Pete pulled back to look at him properly, trying not to smile. “And neither of those sound very good,” Joe continued, obviously lost in thought. “Maybe the clone thing. Then you could build up an army and defeat the galactic empire.”

That had certainly not been what Pete was expecting. And now Joe was looking embarrassed, downing the rest of his beer as if it were oxygen, but Pete didn’t even try to hide his smile this time.

“I don’t know if I’d make a good galactic army. If it was just me.”

Joe ducked his head and murmured, “There’s force in numbers.”

All of the confidence he’d had on the stage that Pete had found so attractive didn’t seem present in the boy sitting next to him, but Pete motioned for two more beers anyway and considered that maybe he liked this guy more. It felt more real, in a way a conversation with a stranger hadn’t in awhile.

“So which is your favorite movie?” Pete asked, leaning closer.

“Oh,” Joe said, his eyes getting wide. This at least seemed to be a conversation he could get behind. “Empire Strikes Back, but they’re all good. The originals, anyway.”

Pete laughed quietly, and found himself wanting to reach out and touch Joe’s hand, but he held back for now. “Yeah? I couldn’t agree more.”

When Joe smiled properly at him for the first time, finally focusing all of his attention on him, Pete felt his stomach doing flip-flops. That, he thought curiously, was new.

\---

It hadn’t taken much to get Joe drunk, not that Pete really thought he had to work that hard to get him to come home with him. It was just, the more Joe drank, the more relaxed he seemed to get – and if the way he shoved his tongue down Pete’s throat on the taxi ride over was any indication, Joe was very relaxed now.

He sort of regretted letting him have that last beer, though, especially when Joe tumbled into his apartment, barely able to keep his balance. Pete laughed and grabbed for him, backing him up against his wall instead, which seemed like a much better idea.

“Hey,” Joe murmured when Pete pressed against him, and he couldn’t help smiling and mouthing the word back before kissing him, his fingers already making quick work of the buttons on his own dress shirt. He really wished he’d thought to change before the bar.

Joe’s shirt was easier, once he got Joe to raise his arms and stop trying to reach out to touch Pete’s chest. He intertwined their fingers to stop their movement, raising them up over Joe’s head. “Stay,” he said, tightening his grip, and for once Joe did. Once the shirt was off, though, he was back trying to touch Pete everywhere he could reach, his breathing growing ragged against Pete’s cheek.

“So sexy,” Pete whispered against his ear, and tugged at it with his teeth before dropping to his knees and running a hand up his thigh. Above him, Joe made a soft noise and balled his hands into fists as Pete began to drag the zipper of his jeans down. He slid them down, over smooth thighs, and was almost impressed when Joe managed to step out of them without prompting from Pete.

“Better,” he said, and wrapped his fingers around the base of Joe’s already half-hard cock.

He heard more than saw as Joe’s hands scratched at his wall, searching for something to hold on to, but white plaster walls didn’t offer much.

It was looking like this was going to be over embarrassingly quick, but they had all night. Pete tightened his grip as he leaned forward, dragging his tongue down the length of his cock and was rewarded with a low moan and Joe’s hand reaching to run through Pete’s hair. Usually he hated when guys tried to guide his movements, but something about this felt more off than usual – and a moment later, that same hand was pushing him away, roughly.

Pete toppled back onto his ass, staring after Joe’s retreating form as he raced toward the kitchen. “What the fuck?” Pete yelled after him, but a moment later he got an eyeful of more than just Joe’s ass he threw up the night’s alcohol in Pete’s sink.

“Fuck,” Pete sighed, and dragged himself to his feet.

“Nnngh,” Joe groaned, leaning heavily against the sink. Pete moved to stand behind him – bracing him and keeping him from sliding to the floor. “I’m sorry, I’ll… I’ll clean it up, I’ll…”

“Shut up, will you? I’m not mad,” Pete said, pressing a hand to his forehead. They really should have skipped that last drink, but he didn’t think he was too far past his limit. “You think you’re going to be sick again?”

Joe paled and nodded, and this time when he threw up, it was on Pete’s brand new Vans.

“Fuck,” he said again.

\---

Jon was near hysterics, leaning against Tom for support. “I told you! No way that kid was 21! Hell, was he even 18? You deserved what you got.”

“You did not tell me he was going to throw up on me,” Pete countered, and found some joy in Tom elbowing Jon off him so he could fold. “And keep on laughing, I’m taking all your money.” He pulled the chips from the hand closer, adding them to his ever-growing pile.

“So what did you even do with him?” Sean asked, looking up from shuffling the cards. “I hope you didn’t kick him out on the street for ruining your shoes.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “Even I’m not that much of an asshole. I put him to bed and left him gas money in the morning.”

“A real saint,” Jon laughed, leaning his head onto Tom’s shoulder. This time, Tom didn’t push him away.

“Damn straight,” Pete agreed. “Now let’s play some poker. I still have two more months before school starts. I have to pay my rent somehow.”

“I think you’re confused about who’s taking whose money,” a voice called from behind them, followed by the sound of the door closing, and a chorus of laughter rose up as Ashlee wandered into the living room, shrugging off her coat. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You can show up whenever, so long as you show up,” Sean said, pushing out a chair with his foot for her.

Pete nodded, flashing her a smile. “You’re just in time to watch me finish kicking their asses.”

Ashlee nodded, but didn’t look suitably impressed. She rarely was with him, though. Pete had spent months braving the English department’s stuffy halls and libraries just to get her to go on a date with him, another month of some of the best sex of his life though apparently not hers, and that had finally tapered off into a friendship where she could invade their poker nights and call him an idiot when the shoe fit. Which was more often than Pete cared to admit.

“Well,” she said slowly, tapping her fingers against the wooden dining table they used to play on. “What did I miss?”

“Pete tried to sleep with a high schooler,” Tom offered.

“Who threw up on him.” Jon still looked positively giddy at that news, and Pete sort of wanted to slap his friend. He took his cards instead.

“An eventful week,” Ashlee said, and her smile widened. “Such a hard life you marine biologists lead.”

“Hey!” Jon argued, frowning. “Two of us are photographers.”

Pete stuck his tongue out at her, and she laughed quietly, giving him a slight push, and was just kind enough to change the topic.

\---

“When you wake up, do you get dressed in the dark?” Ashlee’s heels echoed in the empty corridor, and he struggled to keep up, carefully balancing two cups of Starbucks – one of which was burning his right hand, and the other was freezing his left.

“So nice to see you care.”

“No, really,” Ashlee sighed, reaching over to touch the purple hoodie, covering his dress shirt and bowtie underneath. “You can’t think this looks good.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “Not my fault the university has a dress code.”

“I don’t remember it saying ‘ugly’ in the requirements.”

He clicked his tongue at her and stopped walking, holding her coffee over a trash can in warning. “Careful,” he said, but when she narrowed her eyes at him, it was all he could do to laugh and run after her again.

“I kind of missed school,” he said, looking around the empty halls. The Dean’s lunch had been long and boring, as usual, and the food had been so bad they’d decided to make a coffee run and sit outside to drink it, even though there was still a layer of snow on the ground. Pete squinted as they stepped through the large double doors, but Ashlee found a bench facing away from the sun, and he handed over her coffee.

“It’s so quiet,” she murmured, closing her eyes. Pete sat beside her and took in the empty surroundings - the spring semester didn’t start for another two days, and the intersession kids had finally finished up their finals. The usual buzzing of students and life had been sucked from the area, replaced only by the occasional car horn somewhere off in the distance and the sound of Ashlee sipping her coffee or their feet crunching in the snow each time they shifted.

“I missed school,” Pete repeated, and kicked at a pile of snow under his foot.

\---

The first day of classes was always Pete’s least favorite. He only had three semesters of experience – of teaching his own class, of having students address him as Professor Wentz, of pretending he was making a difference. It wasn’t enough time that he felt he really had the experience down, and even though his mentor had said first day jitters never went away, the uncertainty of that first day still made his heart race the way it had back in grade school.

But Biology of Fishes had gone better than he’d really expected. It was upper-division, and his first time teaching the subject, but the students were polite and interested, and no one had asked him anything beyond his capable knowledge. His next, and final class – Marine Conservation Ecology, comprised mostly of sophomores – was bound to be a walk in the park by comparison.

Pete took in a deep breath outside the closed door to compose himself, then stepped inside, glancing once toward the class and tossing his briefcase onto his desk chair. “Welcome,” he said, and he still wasn’t used to the way his voice resonated in class rooms, like a flashback to the few months he’d been on a stage with Jon, in crappy bars, the stage lights blinding him. Pete didn’t give it a second thought, though, as he began to spell out the name of the class on the board.

“This is Marine Conservation Ecology, and I’m Professor Wentz. If none of that sounds familiar, you’re probably stoned or high, in which case, you better share or get out.”

Pete cringed at his own handwriting before turning around, already moving toward his desk to pull out the syllabus for the semester. Across the room, a pen clattered loudly to the floor, and Pete looked toward who had made the noise, and stopped.

In the third row, staring at him with those same blue eyes he remembered, was the kid who’d thrown up on him.

Here, in his class. This wasn’t happening.

“Um,” he said, looking down quickly to gather the rest of the syllabuses. “Let me just, ah.” Pete closed his eyes briefly, but when he opened them again, he felt calmer. There was nothing to be done now, no matter how hard his heart was beating in his chest, or how his brain was speeding up just to try to process what any of this meant.

“This is your syllabus,” he said, handing it to a girl in the front to begin passing out. “Let’s go over it.”

Pete killed time and saved himself from stumbling over his words by having the students read it aloud, and carefully avoided looking anywhere near Joe. The only time he acknowledged him was at the end of class, when he pressed a hastily scribbled post-it note reading ‘See me in my office’ in Joe’s palm.

This was so not good.

\---

Pete tapped his fingers anxiously on his desk, glancing at the clock for the third time. Class had only ended ten minutes earlier, and it was entirely possible Joe had another class, or that he’d fallen into a ditch on the way to Pete’s office.

Yes, entirely possible.

He almost fell out of his chair when there was a soft knock and it swung open, revealing Joe, now wearing a scarf and heavier overcoat Pete didn’t remember from class. “Hi?” he asked, glancing around the office. It was fairly plain – books lined his bookshelf, along with a stuffed whale Jon had bought him when he got the teaching position. Nothing that should have held Joe’s attention so raptly.

“Shut the door,” Pete said, and winced at the way his voice cracked at the end.

Joe slid into the leather seat across from Pete once the door was closed, staring at him. To his credit, he looked almost as nervous as Pete felt.

“What are you doing in my class?” Pete asked slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Are you stalking me? Because we didn’t do anything, I can’t be fired. You can’t prove anything.”

“It seems like quite an effort to take three prerequisites just to get in your class, if I was stalking you.” He didn’t smile, but Pete thought he could see the corners of his lips twitching. “Sir.”

Pete narrowed his eyes. “Then what are you doing in my class?”

Joe blinked at him before looking around the office again. “Um. Trying to get my degree?”

“You really expect me to believe you’re studying in marine biology? No one studies marine biology in Chicago.”

Joe raised a finger and pointed it at something over Pete’s head. “Didn’t you?” he asked, motioning vaguely to Pete’s own degree from DePaul, framed thoughtfully by his mother and hung on the back wall.

Pete really didn’t like this kid.

“So you want to be a marine biologist?”

Something shifted in Joe’s expression, and there was a brief moment of hesitation. “Well, not exactly.”

“Aha!”

Joe was staring at him like he had three heads, which was usually a look only worn by Ashlee. Pete slowly lowered his arms from their victory stance. “I want to study penguins.”

Pete furrowed his brows in confusion, because he’d thought he had Joe this time. “Shouldn’t you be an ornithologist, then? Penguins are birds, not fish. Did you actually pass that biology class?”

“I know they’re birds,” Joe mumbled, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. He looked almost embarrassed, and Pete could suddenly see the kid from the bar that night sitting across from him, laughing drunkenly about how purple was an awesome color because the word was fun to say. “But like, there’s not a lot of… ornithology degrees out there, are there? And even if there were, that’d mostly be about normal birds, that can fly, and that don’t live in the ocean. So marine biology seemed a bit more… natural.”

Pete was still eyeing him carefully, but with less hostility and suspicion. “So you don’t want to wreck my career?”

Joe looked around the small, barely-decorated office again before settling his gaze back on Pete. “What career?”

When Pete started to laugh, it felt like he was releasing built up tension and frustration from weeks. “I like you,” he said, flashing Joe a smile for the first time since that night, and was greeted with a shy one in return. “Nothing funny this time, but we’ll be fine.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to drop out? I really need this class.”

Pete nodded. “You can stay. I’m not giving you an A though.”

Joe actually looked offended. “What if I earn an A?”

“We’ll see,” Pete said, and Joe seemed satisfied enough with the answer that he shook Pete’s hand awkwardly and left. If Pete watched the way his ass looked on the way out the door, it was more to do with reflex.

\---

Nada Tea and Coffee House wasn’t as packed as the last time Ashlee had dragged him there, but Pete didn’t like it any better. Too many of their drinks were green, and while he wasn’t quite certain what Yok Mok was, he didn’t think it belonged on a cookie.

“I hate the first week,” Ashlee sighed once they’d settled on a table, dropping their messenger bags onto the empty seats. It felt like when he was a student again, the soft hint of caffeine lingering in the air if he ignored the other aromas. Across from him, Ashlee sipped her tea and waved her hand, looking tired. “I mean, I drive 45 minutes to get here, I hand out a syllabus, and class is over in five minutes. Does that seem fair to you?”

“You could keep them longer,” Pete commented, poking at his sandwich. “Y’know, make them do actual work.”

“I’m not a sadist,” she argued, tilting her head as she watched him. “Unlike some people.”

Pete cracked a smile, but it was small. “I see nothing wrong with assigning a paper the first week.”

“You would have when you were their age.”

She had a point, but he took a large bite out of his chicken sandwich, pointedly ignoring her.

She went back to her own lunch, glancing down occasionally at her well-worn copy of _The Sun Also Rises_. Pete remembered giving her the book, back when he’d been pretending he wanted to just be friends.

“How are your classes?” she asked, not tearing her eyes from the page.

Briefly, he considered telling her about Joe – but the less of a thing he made over the issue, the more chance Pete hoped he had of letting the semester slide past without incident. Instead, he shrugged. “You know.”

Her eyes flicked up briefly, taking him in. “No,” she said slowly. “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.”

“Oh.” He laughed, though it was nervous even to his own ears. “The kids in Biology of Fishes seem more interested this year.”

Ashlee nodded thoughtfully. “And your other class?”

“Fine,” he answered, but even he knew it was too quick. Pete winced and Ashlee was definitely no longer looking at her book.

“You want to talk about it?” she asked slowly.

Pete rolled his eyes. “Nothing’s going on, I promise. Just, a weird class. I don’t know, I’ve only had them twice, right?”

For a moment, he thought she was going to press the issue further. But instead, she gave a small shrug and turned back to the book, letting him finish his lunch.

\---

Pete had always been afraid that teaching would feel like his least favorite parts of being a student in a university. That once he stepped foot in that classroom, those same old feelings of boredom, of being trapped, of a brick wall, would all come crashing back. So he’d been pleasantly surprised to find that being on the other side of a classroom felt like none of those things. There were occasional days where he wanted to shake his students just to wake them up, but mostly, he found getting to impart what little knowledge he had about the world exhilarating.

It was probably a bit narcissistic, he thought.

But the one thing he hated, that reminded him of tireless nights spent holed up in the library or his own room with piles of books, was lesson planning.

And although Pete would never admit it, that was precisely why he assigned a paper the first week. Once students got to know him and his expectations, they rarely stopped in. Giving a project at the start of the term ensured at least occasionally in that first month, someone might knock on his door and give him a reprieve from staring over the material for the class and trying to come up with some new, inventive way to teach that people smarter than himself hadn’t come up with on in their own in the last few hundred years.

Sometimes, Pete’s plans took odd turns.

“Nate,” Pete sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, because he had given up on calling him Mr. Navarro a half hour ago. “Please stop pretending to cry.”

Across from him, Nate let out another fake sob. It was almost insulting. Pete had pulled this trick before in undergrad, but at least he’d been able to muster up real tears. And, on occasion when the story called for it, pretty convincing fake blood and broken limbs.

“B-but, my laptop really _did_ get stolen! I need this extra time, Professor!”

“It’s a five-page paper,” Pete sighed, and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to bang his head against the wall. “You have three more days, you can do it.”

“It’s the _weekend_ ,” Nate fake-sobbed, and in that moment, Pete was so over being a teacher.

There was a hesitant knock on the door, and Joe poked his head in, but paused as soon as he saw Nate. “Sorry,” Joe said, offering them both a quick, nervous smile. “I’ll just come back later.”

“No!” Pete scrambled to his feet, pulling the door the rest of the way open. “Please, Nate was just leaving, weren’t you?”

“Do I get my extension?” Nate asked, sounding more hopeful than crestfallen this time, and Pete began to wonder how today’s youth was being raised if they didn’t even know how to lie to their professors.

He opened the door wider, motioning to the hallway. “You’ll figure something out, Mr. Navarro. Now goodbye.”

Nate’s shoulders sunk, but once he had walked out, Pete slammed the door closed and leaned against it, closing his eyes.

“I really can come back later,” Joe said, fidgeting by the desk. “It’s not a big deal. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Pete laughed quietly. “No, trust me, you’re saving me.” He opened his eyes and took in Joe’s nervous stance – the way he couldn’t seem to settle on his own two feet. He was watching Pete, expectantly, and finally Pete cleared his throat and slid back into his office chair. “What can I do for you, Mr., ah…” Pete stumbled over his words, wondering if it was still polite to call someone by their last name after he’d seen them naked. Even if that someone was his student.

Joe didn’t seem bothered. He slid off his backpack and began digging through it, pulling out wadded papers and looking embarrassed and flustered for it. “I just, I mean, I just needed some clarification? Like, you said to write five pages about the current efforts being made to protect a species.”

“Yes,” Pete said, leaning back. On some of the papers Joe was pulling out, he saw scraps of drawings or sheet music. His fingers itched to reach out and touch them, to get a better look, but he kept his hands neatly folded in his lap. “Whatever species you want. Though I assumed you’d be choosing penguins.”

Joe looked up sharply, his cheeks flushing red. He laughed nervously and nodded, finally pulling out the only non-crumpled papers Pete had seen him remove from his backpack. “Yeah. Is that okay?”

“They’re still birds,” Pete said, but he shrugged. “But I don’t see why not. We study them later.”

The smile he got in return could have lit up a room.

“Awesome,” Joe said, and this time when he laughed, it sounded more genuine. “My question was more, did you just mean man-made problems they need to be protected from? Like, oil spills and overfishing? Or did you mean natural ones as well, like weather and global warming? Because when I included both, it was more like, ten pages.” He slid the papers across the table to Pete and then he was back to fidgeting. “And I know it’s too many, but I couldn’t shut myself up. Could you look it over?”

Pete grabbed a red pen, picking up the paper. “You sound like me,” he said, and the look Joe gave him was almost as unreadable as whatever Pete was feeling.

\---

Jon held up one of his few remaining red chips, squinting at it. “Is this $5 or $10 again?”

Tom groaned while Pete snickered and began to drag Jon’s beer bottle across the table, out of reach, and watched the trail of condensation it left. Jon caught the motion, though barely, and frowned. “Hey!”

“You’re cut off,” Ashlee sighed, throwing her cards on the table. “I need to find boys who know how to play poker.”

Pete nodded in agreement and drank the remains of Jon’s beer before folding his own hand. “Even I suck tonight.”

“You suck every night,” Tom mumbled, and Jon let out a loud laugh, no longer concerned about the missing beer.

“I do not.” Pete crossed his arms, shaking his head at them. “I haven’t even gotten laid in forever.”

Across the table, Jon’s eyes lit up with a spark of recognition. “Because they throw up on you!” he said, and then dissolved into a bout of giggles, leaning heavily against Tom.

“You’re blushing.”

The table stopped dead at Ashlee’s words, and even Jon stopped his drunken laughter to stare at Pete. “You are,” Tom confirmed, slowly. “You never blush.”

Pete hadn’t even realized. “I’m not,” he muttered, gathering up the cards on the table. “Now, whose turn is it to deal?”

\---

A club was precisely what Pete needed. He’d collected the first round of papers from both his classes, but rather than taking them home to cover them in shiny red ink, he’d thrown his bag into a corner and changed into the tightest pair of jeans he owned.

It was still a chilly Chicago winter, and his arms felt stiff and frozen in the air as he walked from the train to the club a few blocks down, but once he stepped inside and felt the rush of bodies pressing together, he felt instantly warmed.

Pete danced for awhile, eyes closed and hips swaying to the rhythm of bad dance music blaring overhead, but he hadn’t found what he was looking for. When someone pressed a suggestive hand to his hip or, once, his ass – he just smiled and slid away, further into the crowd.

His eyes kept moving over the flurry of bodies around him, still searching for something, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. His stomach had been in knots all week, a feeling of dread he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “You need to get laid,” Jon had said when they’d met for lunch one afternoon, and tonight, Pete agreed. He needed that sensation of being in control, of pressing willing hips onto his black sheets and spreading them, knowing the act was just for him.

Finally, he spotted what he’d been searching for. There was a skinny boy with his back turned to Pete, moving in tune to the music. He couldn’t see his face, but his hair was short, just curling at the tips. Pete had to slide through people to get up behind him, but when he did, something clicked in a way none of the other people there had.

He settled his hands on the boy’s waist, pleased when he didn’t move away but instead pressed back, not too eager but pliant. They moved like that for a moment, Pete’s cock rubbing against his ass in an agonizingly tempting way. The kid knew what he was doing, especially when he tilted his head back onto Pete’s shoulder and –

Pete shot back, as much as he could in the dense crowd, and in front of him, Joe spun around to face him. They both stood there, suddenly out of sync with both the music and their thoughts, staring each other down.

“You’re stalking me,” Pete called, over the music, and Joe’s lips twitched into a bemused smile. Pete’s cock also twitched in approval of that smile.

“You keep saying that,” he yelled back, shaking his head. “You approached me.”

Pete hated when other people made sense.

Joe wasn’t looking at him like he did in class, though. Or even like that first night. There was something wide and overblown about his eyes, like he was on something – or like Pete imagined he’d been looking at Joe moments before. He tilted his head, still taking Pete in, and this time, not bothering to hide the way his eyes lingered over the bulge in Pete’s jeans.

It was a horrible idea, but Pete’s body felt on autopilot as he pressed closer, closing the distance he’d created between them. Joe’s fingers were slick with sweat as they slid under the bottom of his shirt, tracing across skin, while Pete trailed his own fingers across Joe’s back and then down, to grasp his ass and force him closer. It gave him a sick thrill at the way Joe’s breath hitched against his ear before he leaned his head back, giving Pete easy access.

This was such a bad idea. But when Pete ground their hips together, roughly, and Joe moaned low and ragged, the fingers at his side clawing a little, Pete didn’t care.

“Let’s get out of here,” Pete whispered against his ear, and there was the briefest of hesitations from Joe before he nodded. Then their hands grasped for each other as they fought their way out of the mass of sweaty bodies pressing together. Together, they escaped into the cold, and Joe’s black Converse made the only noise other than their breathing as they hurried along to the train station. It occurred once to Pete that Joe probably even knew what train they were headed to, that he might remember exactly where Pete lived, but that wasn’t a line of thought he cared to follow. He much preferred the one Joe seemed to have when they made it to the train station and Pete found himself pulled into a dark corner as they waited, lips pressing against his and needy hips grinding against him. The room seemed to vibrate as the train whisked past them, a clatter against the rails, but Pete waited until the last few seconds to pull back, gripping Joe by the buckle on his jeans and jerking him onto the awaiting car.

The train was annoyingly full and buzzing with life, with tired, drunken college students singing off key and homeless men sleeping through the rickety ride. But Pete grabbed two open seats toward the back and Joe slid down beside him. No one paid them much attention, even as Pete ran his hand along Joe’s thigh, digging his fingers in and marking yet unseen flesh. Joe hissed once and shifted, but otherwise kept his face placid through the ride. No one would ever guess his own hands were playing at the hem of Pete’s shirt and tracing the hint of skin found there.

His stop felt like it took hours to get to, and by the time he jerked Joe to his feet and they tumbled off, Pete was hard and anxious. He kept the same forceful hand clasped on Joe’s belt as he tugged him into the cold night air, and Joe followed him eagerly through the streets without complaint. Which was exactly the way Pete liked it.

“Here,” Pete murmured, stealing one quick kiss in the dark and tasting a hint of vodka there, before he got the door to his apartment building open. One step, four steps, ten, and the angle was awkward to keep a grasp on Joe, but he felt warm fingers reaching out to grip his arm for support, and soon enough they were pouring into Pete’s apartment. His shoes were gone before the door was even closed, and when he shoved Joe up against it, his mind reeled back to months before, this same scenario.

But Joe wasn’t nearly as drunk this time, and the energy had shifted. When Pete pressed his hips hard against Joe’s and leaned in for another searing kiss, rough and territorial, Joe arched toward him like his life depended on it. This was definitely new. He got Joe’s shirt up and over his head before dragging his fingers down his chest, scratching at the exposed skin hard enough to leave marks in the morning.

“I can take it,” Joe whispered, and his eyes were bright in the mostly dark room.

But Pete was never one to back down from a challenge. Especially one as tempting as this.

“Come,” he said, and without waiting to see if Joe would follow, Pete led them to his bedroom. The cleaning lady had come that afternoon, and Pete found childlike enjoyment at the idea of messing up freshly washed sheets which hadn’t even been slept on. He lifted his own shirt up and over his head, tossing it into a corner.

“Get on your knees.”

There was the first moment of hesitation from Joe, but he complied, fingers already reaching for the zipper of Pete’s jeans and making quick work of them.

Pete had been wondering (somewhere, in the very back of his mind) for weeks what this very moment would feel like – what Joe would look like on his knees like this, if he’d be skilled or inexperienced but eager to please, or hesitant. He was pleasantly surprised when Joe didn’t waste any time getting rid of his clothes, and Pete had barely stepped out of his boxers before Joe’s fingers were wrapping around the base of his cock, his lips sliding down the length.

Pete’s head hit the wall, but it didn’t matter. His fingers found Joe’s hair and guided his movements, an unnecessary move, given the way Joe used the mouth-and-hand combination like he was almost ready to go pro. Joe was so good, in fact, that when Pete caught Joe staring up at him, he almost came undone completely

Joe seemed to sense this, as he pulled back slowly. “Pete,” he whispered, and Pete hated how comfortable that sounded spilling from Joe’s tongue. He nipped lightly at the inside of his thigh. “Come on.”

That propelled him back into action. He wrangled Joe out of his own jeans and onto the bed, pushing him down onto his knees. Pete fumbled with the lube from his bedside drawer with one hand while he ran the other down Joe’s chest, closer to where he knew Joe wanted his hand.

“You like that?” he asked, leaning down to press a kiss against Joe’s back before wrapping his hand around his cock, feeling the way he pressed down into the touch. From the angle, Pete couldn’t see his face and he regretted that, but it did give him a better angle when he reached down with his other hand to press one slicked finger into him. He looked so tempting like this, spread out for Pete.

Experimentally, he moved his other hand from Joe’s cock to his hips and dug his nails in, and was pleased when he could hear Joe’s breath hitch, could feel the way his hips jerked forward. “I can take it,” Joe repeated, firmer.

When Joe’s hips gave another involuntary jerk and he moaned under Pete, he pulled both hands back entirely and began searching for a condom.

Joe whined while he fumbled with opening it and slicking it on, arching back toward Pete. A few moments, later, though, he let out a different sort of whine as Pete gripped his hips again and began to slide into him, slowly. “You still good?” he grit out.

“Good,” Joe said, and arched back again.

They set up a quick rhythm, Pete jerking Joe’s hips back toward him with every thrust. To his credit, Joe took it, leaning his head down to rest his forehead against the mattress and moaning with each push.

It was tight, tighter than Pete had really expected given Joe’s previous enthusiasm, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He wouldn’t have been able to articulate them, anyway, not with the sounds Joe was making under him and the way his fingers dug in a little deeper to flesh, so that he could see where light bruises were beginning to form. Where they’d still be, the next day, a reminder.

It didn’t take much for Pete to get off, and then he was groaning into Joe’s back, giving a final round of sharp, rough thrusts before spilling into the condom. He finally reached down to wrap his hand around Joe’s cock, and Joe let out a grateful moan. With a few quick tugs, Joe came too, and collapsed under him onto the bed.

Pete pulled back carefully, peeling the condom off and throwing it away.

“Do I have to sleep in the wet spot?” Joe mumbled into the pillow, and Pete snorted.

“You did make it.”

Joe yawned, and Pete considered briefly telling him to get out. But in the end, he just climbed in with him, pulling the covers up higher.

“Asshole,” Joe muttered, and it almost sounded affectionate. Pete was too busy pondering that to come up with a good excuse, and by the time he had one, Joe was already snoring into his favorite pillow.

This had not been exactly how Pete had pictured the night going.

\---

Grading papers was almost therapeutic. Especially on nights when Pete couldn’t sleep, it was like reading dozens of bedtime stories. About whales and oil spills, but bedtime stories nonetheless.

What was less therapeutic, however, was one of his students wandering into his living room at four in the morning, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, and smiling sleepily at him. “Is there coffee?” he asked, hopeful.

“It’s too early for coffee.”

Joe made a displeased noise and settled onto the other end of the sofa as though he belonged there. “It’s never too early for coffee.”

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

Pete frowned at him from over the top of Ann Miller’s ramblings about the plight of the sea otter. “It’s my apartment. I can sleep when I want.”

Joe seemed unphased. “So can I,” he said, and then picked up the stack of graded papers and began sifting through it. Pete reached out for them, but Joe held them out of his reach.

“You’re not supposed to see other students’ grades. I could get fired for that.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Joe laughed, startled. And alright, maybe he had a point. Pete grumbled, mostly to himself, and looked back at Ann Miller’s paper.

“I got an A-. Hey thanks.”

“You’re sort of arrogant.”

Joe looked up at him, startled again, but for very different reasons. “I’m really not,” he admitted, softer. “I just didn’t figure you’d respond well to quiet and subtle.”

Pete set the paper down entirely. “So you planned this out?”

“No! Of course not. You approached me in the club, remember?”

“Maybe you’ve been like, stalking out my favorite clubs and restaurants and just waiting for me to make the first move.” He paused at the look Joe gave him. “Or not.”

“I just, I figured I should use the opportunity that arose.” He smiled hopefully. “Are we going to do it again?”

“No,” Pete said, rising to his feet. “I will make you that coffee after all. And then you’re going to go home.”

He didn’t know if he was surprised or disappointed when Joe didn’t argue.

\---

What he did, instead, was maybe worse.

Pete was surprisingly calm before the next class period. No dean or law team came to knock on his office door, and when he and Ashlee went out to lunch, he steered the conversation topic toward late night TV without it seeming like a ploy to keep her from digging into his extracurricular activities. It almost wasn’t a ploy at all, in the end, as really he hadn’t thought about Joe at all. Not even once.   
Well, not much, anyway.

But when Pete stepped into that classroom, feeling ten feet taller than usual and launching into his semi-improvisational lecture about the application of spatial analysis to threatened marine ecosystems, there was Joe, regarding him with the same disinterest as any other student. The same look of unimportance as Pete had scribed to the entire scenario was etched across his bored expression as he sat there, doodling in the margins of his paper.

“Am I boring you, Mr. Trohman?”

Pete hadn’t even realized the words were out until suddenly there were several very alert pairs of eyes turning to stare at him. He was never the type of teacher to call anyone out unless they were blatantly disregarding him, and even then, it was often more fun to watch them squirm in his office later when their grades suffered because they’d spent their time texting rather than listening.

Joe’s expression remained mostly unchanged, even though he was staring Pete down. “No, Sir.”

“Are you sure?” He shouldn’t be pushing this, he knew that. It was idiotic to draw attention to Joe now, after the entire week had gone so smoothly. But he wanted a reaction that those bored-looking eyes just weren’t giving him. “Because maybe you’d prefer to be somewhere else right now? You don’t look like you want to be here. Am I keeping you from something more important?”

Pete could see the blush rising up his neck under the harsh classroom lights, but more than that, he could tell Joe was biting back some witty yet cutting response. Instead, though, he just shook his head and set his pen down.

They continued their staring match, until one of the other students cleared her throat uncomfortably, and Pete had to look somewhere, anywhere else. “Um, anyway, as I was just talking about the, uh, the…”

“The Laptev Sea,” Joe’s voice cut in, barely audible under Pete’s own, but he caught it all the same. When he turned to look at him again, Joe was watching him, expectant, and maybe with a hint of annoyance.

Pete cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said, and carried on as though nothing had happened.

When he passed out papers at the end of the class period, Joe didn’t look at him or the paper at all before pushing through the herd of students gathered around them, fighting to get to the exit.

\---

“You’re an asshole this week,” Ashlee commented, leaning back in her office chair. Sometimes he hated how much bigger her office was than his, but mostly, he then remembered that he hated being in his office at all.

He stabbed a crouton from her salad with his fork and took it before she could make too many protesting noises. It just proved her point, she should have been happy. “Just this week?”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

Pete snorted and took a large bite of his own lunch, a turkey sandwich. “There are no ladies in this office.”

“Touché.”

They shared a quiet smile, and Pete had hoped the conversation was over, but Ashlee seemed to have other ideas. “What’s going on with you, really?” she asked, leaning closer. “You said your classes were going well. But you’re being a dick about something.”

“Antarctica,” he said quickly, and she didn’t seem to buy it at first, so Pete shrugged. “I mean, I just, I want to get out of here for a bit. I didn’t expect to spend my life teaching.”

Finally, Ashlee nodded thoughtfully. “They’d let you do it. The program could use a little more credibility. Because,” she added quickly when Pete opened his mouth to argue, “you haven’t been out to do research in years, Pete.”

“That’s why I want to go.”

She nodded, and offered a real smile. “I think it’s a good idea.”

\---

There was one e-mail in his inbox that Pete had been staring at, all morning. It wasn’t making his office hours go by any faster, but it was making his head spin.

_From: jtrohman@depaul.edu  
To: petewentz@depaul.edu_

_Subject: (No Subject)_

_If you want me to leave your class, you’re going to have to try a lot harder._

He hesitated, for the hundredth time that hour, but this time he clicked the icon to delete the message, forever.

\---

Jon looked decidedly bored, and he told Pete this, for the fifth time in an hour.

“We’re almost done,” Pete swore, and began wandering down the camping aisles for one last perusal, just in case he’d missed anything.

Jon sighed, but continued his mostly silent protest march behind Pete. “You said that thirty minutes ago. I mean, I’m glad you’re finally smiling. But seriously. How much stuff do you honestly need for a one weekend camping trip with some college students?”

Pete huffed. “What if some of them don’t bring their own tents?”

“The mosquitoes get them. Or they get frostbite. Wait, aren’t you staying in heated cabins?”

“What if my first seven lanterns all break down at once and we have no light to read by?”

Jon looked at him oddly. “You build a fire.”

“What if I don’t know how to build a fire?”

“Well, you don’t, actually. But you still survived. And you’re staying in a _cabin_ , I know you told me that!”

Pete grinned, and shrugged. “Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”

“Thank you!” Jon jerked the cart out from Pete’s grasp and began pushing it quickly toward the check out, ignoring Pete’s desperate attempts to quickly throw in some last minute hand warmers.

“How’s the gallery?” Pete asked once they were standing in line, and attempted to sneak in a pack of gum to the cart. Jon noticed, but he let it slide and gave an easy shrug instead.

“Busy. Tom and I are working a lot of late nights trying to put up new installations, and last week, Tom decided the whole place would look better if we redid the paint, but, well, it’s Tom.”

Pete nodded thoughtfully. “So you ended up painting it yourself.”

He at least looked a little embarrassed, but not sorry. “Maybe.”

“Bet Cassie doesn’t like the long hours.”

It was something Pete had been wanting to bring up for weeks, but even now, he didn’t know how far to push. Boundaries had never been Pete’s best thing at gauging. Something pained flashed across Jon’s face, but it settled into something like resign. “No,” he admitted, rolling his shoulders back out of nervous habit. “But it’s just for now, until we really get up and running, right?”

Pete smiled at him, because that was the right thing to do for a friend. He could hear his mother’s voice telling him so in his head. “Exactly,” he said.

“Anyway,” Jon said, not so subtly trying to change the subject once Pete had swiped his card for the pile of camping supplies currently filling their shopping cart, “are you excited for this weekend?”

“Sure,” he said, and changed the subject just as quickly.

\---

His motley group of students were all gathered around the bus (except Nate, for whom Pete had said a silent prayer in gratitude when he’d announced he wouldn’t be able to get off work). They all looked rather displeased at spending their Friday evening anywhere other than a bar, but Pete hoisted his own backpack further up his shoulders and decided he didn’t care. “We’ve got almost a four hour drive,” he said, and it didn’t escape his attention that most of the students were eyeing the old, rickety bus with uncertainty now. “So I really hope you’re all here.”

It was then that Mark Hoppus, the department head, came jogging over, smiling lopsidedly. “Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

“Professor Hoppus is coming?” someone asked, sounding instantly more excited, and Pete just laughed.

“We needed another chaperone.”

“Party time!” Mark said, giving them all a thumbs up and another smile. “In the safe, ecologically friendly party way.”

Pete was about to let them board, when he remembered the few printed sheets he was holding in his hands. “I’m also working on getting together a research team for the fall, to study changing behavior patterns of different mammals from the melting polar ice caps. In Antarctica.” In the back, he saw Hayley Williams yawn. “It’s a unique opportunity. We’re looking for all levels for the research team. If you’re interested, come get a sheet.”

His announcement was meant with silence, until Mark clapped his hands together and motioned them all forward.

Pete didn’t bother reading off the names on the roll to make sure they were actually all present – he was better with faces anyway – and led them up the small steps to the inside of the bus. Mark took the front seat and Pete slid in across from him, even though he was itching for the very back. But it allowed him to watch the others as they boarded, mostly whispering about the things they could have been doing instead. Unsurprisingly, no one seemed to pay him or his informational sheets any mind, and he hadn’t really expected much less. The handful of grad students had been more enthusiastic, but he was going to have to look at other universities to fill out the rest of the team.

It took Pete a moment to notice, however, that one student had stopped in front of him and was staring at him, expectant, as he held out his hand. “Professor?” Joe asked slowly, and when Pete blinked at him, he motioned toward the paper.

Pete frowned. “You’re interested?”

“I might be.”

“It would mostly be whales and polar bears, not just penguins.”

Joe winced, but his hand remained outstretched. “Can I just have the paper?”

“He’s so excited about this trip he can’t speak,” Mark spoke up across from them, and leaned over to peel the freshest copy off Pete’s stack and hand it to Joe. On his way back, he fixed Pete with an unreadable look, but then he was taking that back seat that Pete had been so hoping for and ducked his head.

“Thanks,” Pete murmured, but Mark just shrugged.

\---

Fox Ridge Lake Park was Pete’s favorite. It was huge, but almost impossible to get lost in because all of its paths were giant loops. It was breathtakingly beautiful, even now, when Pete could see his breath hanging in the cold night air. Overhead, the moon was shining brightly, reflected off the lake and glistening off the few remaining patches of snow in the area.

He couldn’t really make out their faces, but his students still looked mostly annoyed as they pulled their oversized coats on tighter and began dragging their backpacks off the bus. Joe was the last one off, but Pete looked away as soon as he realized he’d been waiting.

“That’s everyone,” he said to Mark.

“Our cabins are over here,” Mark shouted, and then without waiting to see if the rest were following, began to lead the march toward them. “You’ll be pleased to know they’re heated, and have outlets, and warm showers.” He paused, glancing back at Pete. “But tomorrow, your insane professor will be doing a campout for anyone who wants to participate for extra credit. I will be in my nice, warm bunk.”

Pete left Mark to keep the troops entertained while he ran ahead to the main office, where Ray was sitting behind a desk, the keys to the cabins already laid out in front of him. He sat up straighter at Pete’s presence, giving him a wide smile. “Hey! I can leave now.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Pete’s lips, but he was too tired to put forth any real effort into the movement. “Nice to see you too.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Hi.” He slid the keys closer to Pete. “You know the drill. Don’t let them fuck anything up. If you run into any problems, call Bob. He can be here in ten, he’s just at the main post.”

Pete gave a mock salute. “Go home, Toro.”

\---

Morning came much too soon. The owls outside the cabin kept Pete up most of the night, and once the sun started to rise, there were no blinds on the window. The small room he was sharing with Mark was suddenly filled with entirely too much light. No matter how Pete turned, it was impossible not to feel like he was being blinded.

Even if he hadn’t, though, his efforts would have been futile when five minutes later, Mark whacked him in the head with a pillow. “Time to get up, Wentz.”

“Fuck you,” Pete muttered into a pillow, but his protest was only met with laughter and another, harder, whack to the head. “Fine,” he sighed, and dragged himself to his feet.

Blissfully, there was coffee already made in the kitchen of the cabin, though most of it was already gone. He claimed the last cup, ignoring the glare from Elliott who’d wandered in shortly after him from the main bunks room.

Once the coffee had kicked in, it didn’t take that long to get dressed and bundle up. Mark took it upon himself to rouse the students and bark orders at them to get up, get dressed, get outside. Secretly, Pete thought it was the most fun Mark had had in weeks. But it must have worked, as somehow when Pete emerged outside, everyone seemed to be fully clothed (though perhaps not fully awake) and standing beside a rather pleased looking Mark.

“Morning,” Pete called, and there was a low chorus of voices in return, though Pete sincerely doubted they shared his enthusiasm. Hayley still had a toothbrush in her mouth, Elliott was staring up at the sky blankly, and Joe was swaying on his feet from exhaustion. Pete knew how they felt, but it still gave him a small thrill to jump the last two steps from the cabin to the ground where they were gathered, and point toward the forest.

“As you should all know by now, this is Marine Conservation Biology. Which means, we’re concerned with the environment as well.” There were a few sleepy nods. “So, we’re going to take a hike around the park, and go see my good friend Gerard who runs the ecology center at the other end of the lake.”

Hayley raised her hand, and Pete considered ignoring her, but she raised her hand higher in the air and gave him a pointed look. Finally, he nodded to her. “Yes?”

“Why are we here in the winter?”

Pete grinned wider. “I like to torture you.”

Beside him, Mark snorted. Hayley looked perplexed as she slowly lowered her hand, so Pete took pity on her.

“There’s a lot of tourists, later on. It’s hard to really see the place as it’s meant to be seen unless you come when there’s no one else here. And, as you _should_ know, Illinois actually stocks a lot of the lakes with bass and other fish, but takes them out once it starts getting warm, because they can’t withstand the heat.” He motioned around them. “Any more questions?”

This time, DeMar Hamilton, who usually kept to himself, raised his hand toward the back.

“You!” Mark called, pointing back to him.

“Um, when’s lunch?”

\---

The hike took longer than even Pete had anticipated. Several areas were still too snowy and icy to risk trekking across, so they had to stick to the walking trail rather than any of the several “shortcuts” Mark and Pete kept suggesting.

It was actually Joe who noticed a family of foxes watching them from a short distance away, and the girls of the group insisted on stopping to take pictures. Mark, by contrast, took photos of every species of owl or lizard that crossed their path. Some were fascinating, but it meant it took an extra hour just to reach the ecology center.

Gerard was waiting for them outside, finishing off a cigarette and keeping one hand tucked into the pocket of his leather jacket. He fished it out to wave a gloved hand at them when they approached, and it was actually Mark who took off at a sprint to tackle him into a bear-hug.

“Hey!” Gerard shouted, cigarette falling to the ground. As he desperately attempted to step on it, Mark kept hugging him, lifting his feet off the ground and spinning him around. “Put me down, you asshole!” He batted uselessly at Mark’s shoulders, but Mark just laughed.

“Professor Hoppus doesn’t act like this in class,” Pete overheard Elliot whisper to someone, and he was about to interrupt and tell them they clearly didn’t know him that well when Joe cut in.

“Did you take the same intro class I did?”

He had to bite back his smile, but it didn’t last long when Mark finally set Gerard down and Gerard made a mad dash for him. They hugged, less enthusiastically than Mark had, but squeezed each other’s shoulders all the same.

When they pulled back, Gerard began looking over the group of students, studying. “This is it, then? Today’s best and brightest?”

“Today’s current, at least,” Pete offered, and behind him, there were a few muffled protests. 

Gerard beamed at the group anyway. “I’m Gerard! And you can call me Gerard. Um, yeah. You’re here for a tour of the Center for Aquatic Ecology, right?” He glanced at Pete, who nodded. “I’m not a great tour guide, but come on!”

They barely all fit into the center, even though it was possibly larger than the cabin they were all staying in. But there were rows and rows of aquariums lining the walls, some with exotic fish that clearly didn’t belong in the park, and others with local fauna and plant life. Others still housed catfish and bluegill, looking annoyed as they paced back and forth in their too-small enclosure. Pete’s favorite, though, was a cranky looking turtle, floating in the water of its tank underneath a sign that read _I’m George. I DO bite_.

What little space wasn’t taken up by the aquariums was covered in stacks of paper, open textbooks, a litany of computers and calendars, and a wall which seemed entirely devoted to post-it notes. There was even a small rowboat propped up against the back wall. It looked like a mad scientist’s office, and for a moment, Pete considered how much he would have preferred his own tiny basement office to resemble something more like this.

Joe casually stepped up beside Pete, and behind them, someone edged closer, forcing Joe to press against Pete’s side. Something stirred in his stomach, but he noticed that Joe kept his eyes carefully trained on Gerard and the row of aquariums.

“I don’t actually live here,” Gerard said, fidgeting a little under so much attention. “It just looks like I do. And actually, the mess isn’t _all_ my fault. We have interns. In the summer.” He looked around the group, smiling hopefully. “And we’re always looking for more!”

“Tell them what you actually do, Gee,” Pete laughed, and watched as the other man nodded quickly.

“I’m the project director here. And, um, basically, we test the water levels to make sure nothing bad is getting into the water, we track the numbers of each species of fish. We stock certain species and take them out.” Pete gave a satisfied grin in Hayley’s general direction, but Joe edged closer and he quickly turned his attention back. “Which means we actually have to tag each fish, which can take awhile. And then every summer, this area serves as a fishing creel. You’re allowed to fish and angler here, so we rent rowboats and measure and scan the tags of the fish. You can’t take anything under 14 inches if it’s a bass, catfish or walleye, or 8 inches if’s a bluegill, because it’s not fully grown yet. We’re sort of trying a few other species out here that aren’t native, so if you catch those, you have to release them.”

“Like why we shouldn’t eat veal?” Hayley asked.

Gerard paused, considering, and Mark intervened.

“More like, why we don’t eat polar bears,” Mark explained, and Pete tried not to laugh at the face Joe made. Mostly because that would have been admitting he was watching Joe at all.

“So,” Gerard said quickly, moving over to the turtle’s tank. “Who wants to pet George before we practice how to measure bass?”

\---

Gerard kept them busy most of the afternoon. Although the area around the dock was cleared of ice, it was still too cold for the fish to be so close to the shoreline. Instead, he took volunteers to suit up with him and wade into the icy water for water and plant samples. Pete and Mark attempted to show the rest of the students how the database at the center worked, but they mostly made it up as they went along.

When they got back to the camp around two, Mark got a grill going and proceeded to cook the hotdogs and hamburgers they’d brought along and stored in the small kitchen. Pete tried to help, once, but Mark slapped his hand with the spatula. “I’ve seen your kitchen,” he argued, and narrowed his eyes.

“I’ve seen _yours_ ,” Pete countered, but somehow ten minutes later, he still found himself sitting alone at a picnic table.

It wasn’t altogether surprising when Joe made his way over and took the seat across from him, looking off into the forest. “Hey,” he said, quietly, and it felt rude not to say anything back, so Pete nodded slowly and repeated the word. “I’ve never really been camping in the real wilderness before,” Joe admitted, stretching his arms out. “It’s kind of cool.”

“You know you’re completely in the wrong field, right?”

“You know you say that to me every time we talk, right?”

Pete pursed his lips together, but kept quiet. Across from him, Joe sighed. “Let me try again. I think this was a really cool idea. Even if it’s freezing.”

“It does work better in the fall semester,” Pete admitted, leaning back. A few of the students had a Frisbee out, and were chasing after it across the wide, open terrain of the camp area. It was amusing to watch them struggle to run under all of those layers of clothing.

Joe nodded thoughtfully. “But busier, like you said. This is like we’re really out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Except for the electricity and the hot dogs.”

He laughed, and Pete saw his teeth flash white under the afternoon sun. Joe didn’t smile like that nearly enough he thought once, before pushing the thought aside. “Except for those,” Joe agreed, and he was still smiling wide, watching Pete with an ease Pete wasn’t entirely certain he felt comfortable with. “You’re really going to Antarctica?”

“I think so.” It wasn’t really any of Joe’s business, but he tried to remind himself that this was a perfectly normal conversation for a teacher to be having with his student. “The university is behind the effort, I just need a few more backers and some more volunteers and researchers. I don’t…” He laughed, shaking his head. “I’ve been talking about this for two years, but I still don’t feel like I have anything worked out. I don’t even know yet if I’d be gone for a year or six months or what.”

Joe wasn’t looking at him like he was crazy, the way Tom usually did. And he didn’t look like he was jealous at the idea of far off places, like sometimes he caught Jon doing. He just nodded, and offered a supportive, understanding smile. “I think it sounds awesome.”

“Yeah?”

Joe laughed, and that same brilliant smile returned. “You keep telling me I’m doing the wrong things, but that’s like, exactly what I want to be doing. Really working with animals, making a difference. And there’d be penguins.”

“What is with you and these damn penguins?”

Joe ducked his head, and for a moment, Pete wondered if he’d crossed that line into a territory that was somehow out of the teacher/student realm. They’d obviously crossed that line before, but was this different, in the daylight? Had Pete spooked him off?

“They don’t fit in,” Joe whispered, quiet and soft, before he squared his shoulders up and turned to face Pete again. “They’re these sort of misfits of the animal kingdom. But they’re so graceful under the water, and they’re fiercely loyal. Like, I don’t think they realize they don’t fit in. I just, I think they’re fascinating. A lot more so than some stupid fish, who mostly just want to mate and eat. Fish will bleed to swim upstream just for sex. Penguins will die for each other.” He crossed his arms and cleared his throat, smiling sheepishly. “I think they’re cool, that’s all.”

There were a thousand things running through Pete’s mind at that moment, but the one that came out didn’t encompass any of those feelings. “You’re very odd,” he said at length, but Joe just smiled harder.

“So I’ve been told.” 

Pete shook his head. “No, I mean, you’re never what I think you are. You keep coming off as someone who’s really sure of himself, or arrogant.”

“So do you,” Joe said, and across the camp, Mark whistled loudly and motioned for everyone to come and get their lunch. Slowly, Joe pushed himself to his feet, glancing down once at Pete. “But I think we’re both wrong.”

More than anything, Pete hated that Joe was getting to him.

\---

Since a few of the students were also in Mark’s Marine Habitats course, he offered them extra credit to fend for themselves for dinner while he enjoyed his own natural habitat – his bed.

DeMar organized a group fund, and called for a pizza. They had to pay extra to have it delivered so far out, but overall, even Pete was a little impressed by everyone’s complete lack of enthusiasm for the whole camping endeavor.

At least the pizza was good.

When the last box of pizza was tossed onto an evergrowing pile to be recycled, Pete fished out the large bags of marshmallows he’d brought along, and held them up, proud. A few students eyed him with vague interest, and the others were already ignoring him in favor of packing their bags for the morning when they could get the hell out of nature.

“Anyone want to roast marshmallows?”

A few scattered hands raised across the room, which was pretty typical whenever he did this in the winter. Few wanted to sit outside in the freezing weather, S’mores or not. And truthfully, Pete didn’t blame them.

“Anyone want to camp outside tonight and really experience the park?”

Hayley groaned. “We already saw the park. We walked across the entire thing this afternoon.”

“Anyone want to camp outside tonight if it means 50 bonus points?”

DeMar shot to his feet and Joe stood, but slower. Pete continued scanning the room, but most of his students were attempting to avoid eye contact, and Pete wasn’t that good at menacing anyway. He sighed and nodded to DeMar, pointedly ignoring Joe. “I’ve got two extra tents for you too. Anyone else who wants to come out and roast marshmallows for a bit is welcome to come, too.”

Only Mark and Elliott joined their little group as they began the slow trek toward the other campsite. The sky was clear so the moon lit the way when the trees didn’t obscure it. Still, no one got lost, and DeMar only complained once or twice about having to carry his tent all the way to the other site. He still dropped the bag as soon as Mark looked around and announced, “Well, this is it.”

“Thank God,” DeMar sighed, collapsing onto the ground near his tent. Even in the moonlight, Pete could see Joe shaking his head, amused.

Mark sent Elliott off to the nearby wooded area to gather some firewood, though he had to stare him down for a good minute before he did. “Kids,” Mark muttered, and Pete laughed, reaching over to punch his shoulder affectionately.

“You know you love them.”

Mark’s teeth flashed white in the night and it was all the answer he needed to give.

It took longer than it should have for Elliott to get back, and even longer for them to get a decent fire going. Pete had to empty his bag twice before he could find his matches, and even then, another 30 minutes for them to figure out how to build a fire. Mark had sat by, silent and amused, as Pete struggled with the whole ordeal until finally Joe intervened, nudging his hands out of the way and taking the matches from him.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he sighed, rearranging the pile of leaves and twigs.

“And you know a lot about camping, do you?” Pete sat back and crossed his arms, aware that he probably looked like a petulant child. But he had built a fire once or twice in his life. Maybe not much more than that, but still.

Joe ducked his head and murmured, “I took Backpack & Camping instead of a sport for my physical ed requirement.” Pete thought about making some sort of a comment about that, but when less than a minute later small flames were already beginning to rise from the firepit, Pete was thankful Joe didn’t look very athletic.

“Finally,” DeMar sighed, sliding closer to the fire. “It’s freezing out here.”

Mark nodded in agreement, fishing a few marshmallows out of the bag and passing them along. That’s why I’m going back to my nice, warm cabin.”

“That’s not camping,” Pete frowned. The fire cast everything with an orange glow, and as the flames started to grow a bit higher, he could see past their small circle to the forest behind. “Camping involves sleeping outdoors and going home with a million mosquito bites.”

“In February, Pete?” Mark was smiling, though, so Pete couldn’t take it too offensively. Instead, he just shrugged.

“Not my fault we live in Illinois.”

Joe stretched his legs out in front of them, one foot dangerously close to the fire. “Do you really go camping much?” he asked, and though he wasn’t looking at Pete, it was obvious who the question was directed towards. “I mean, you didn’t even know how to build a fire.”

Mark’s laughter was the only sound for a minute, beyond the crackling of the wood as it caught fire, until finally Pete started hitting his arm repeatedly. “Shut up! I just, usually someone else does that part.”

Jon or Tom usually did all of the manual labor, actually, as they didn’t trust him with matches or anything heavier than a log. “It’s for our own protection,” Tom would explain, but he always struggled with the fundamental aspects of those things – like putting the tent together, or figuring out how to roll his sleeping bag up. In the end, it was usually Jon who reluctantly did everything, all the while griping, “I just wanted to _fish_. I hate camping.”

“What he means,” Mark said, smile wider than before, “is that he likes the excuse not to shower.”

Pete shrugged. It was accurate enough, though he did appreciate nature like this – without glass and bars between himself and the world around him.

When Joe did look at Pete, he smiled lazily before taking a large bite out of his roasted marshmallow.

\---

“What was that?”

Mark and Elliott had long since gone, as soon as Joe and Pete began putting together the tents while DeMar sat by the fire and roasted more marshmallows for them. They hadn’t gone to sleep yet, though – the fire was too nice and warm.

DeMar kept jumping at every noise, but even Pete had to admit whatever it was had sounded close.

“The fire’s attracting them,” Joe said, pulling his knees in closer even as he held his hands out toward the fire. “The light and the heat. We should probably put it out soon.”

DeMar looked skeptical. “And let whatever it is find us in the dark and eat us?”

Pete rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t a _bear_ , DeMar. We’ll be fine.”

Joe popped another marshmallow into his mouth and nodded. “Probably smells the food too. All the more reason to eat them now.” He grinned, bits of white goo stuck between his teeth, and Pete hated that it was oddly endearing. He really had to stop this.

He still didn’t look the least bit comforted, and DeMar turned on the flashlight, shining it around the area. Pete followed the movement, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. At least until DeMar screamed.

“What is that?” he hissed, but the raccoon had fled from the light, and Pete was starting to remember why some days he hated being a teacher.

Joe just grabbed one of the marshmallows and tossed it in the general direction the raccoon had gone. Pete frowned, leaning over to punch his arm, not even thinking about how familiar the action must have seemed. “You don’t feed them! I thought you said you took a class about this stuff? If you feed him, he’ll want more. And bring his friends.”

“He has friends?” DeMar paled, scanning the flashlight over the area again.

Joe just rolled his eyes. “It’s a raccoon, guys. He’s going to come over and poke through our stuff after we go to sleep, anyway. Let’s see if we can get him to come into the light.”

“They bite,” Pete warned, narrowing his eyes at Joe. “And have rabies.”

“So do dogs,” Joe pointed out, arching a brow at Pete.

“Leave nature alone.”

Joe laughed, shaking his head at Pete. “I’m not saying we take it home. But we’re already camping here, on their home. It’s already an interaction.”

“Um, guys?” DeMar asked, quietly, but Pete was still frowning.

“You don’t think they can’t find their own food? Please. They’re cute, but that doesn’t mean you get to interact with them directly.”

“Do you really think I’m the first person to give them food? I’m not trying to pet it, Pete.”

“That’s _Professor Wentz_ to you.”

“Guys,” DeMar said again, louder, before standing up. He was pointing behind them, and when Pete finally turned to see what he was motioning to, the raccoon had returned, and was sitting on the plate of marshmallows, happily munching on them. Joe gave Pete a smug look, and all Pete really wanted to do was punch him.

Pete stood, backing away from the raccoon and the fire. “We’re going to bed,” he announced, but DeMar was still staring at the raccoon, panicked.

“Can I go back to the cabins?” he asked, looking at Pete hopefully.

Great.

Pete ran a hand through his hair, considering. He shouldn’t leave a student alone here, but he really didn’t want to sit another minute with Joe right now. “I’ll walk you back,” he said, and motioned Joe toward the tent. “Get in, don’t feed any more animals.”

Joe nodded and did as he was told for once.

It took almost an hour to get DeMar to the cabin and walk back again, but by the time he returned, the third tent was put away and the fire was out. Pete almost missed the campsite entirely without that light, but he spotted Joe sitting a few yards away from their tent by the waterside, his feet dangling off the pier though not quite touching the water. It was too cold for that, anyway.

Pete pulled his coat closer to himself and hesitated, but eventually he made his way onto the pier as well, kicking off his shoes in the grass, though he left his socks. “I thought I said to stay in the tent?” he called, but Joe shrugged.

“The raccoon left. I had to get out anyway to put out the fire, and the water looked nice.” He turned his head to look at Pete, eyes wide but bright in the dark. “Sorry about before.”

He shrugged, sitting down beside him. When he dangled his own legs off, they stopped an inch or two short of Joe’s feet, which was mildly annoying. “I probably over-reacted. Can’t exactly take you guys to stare at aquariums all day and then expect you to not treat the animals like pets.”

Joe huffed in annoyance, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That wasn’t… Whatever. You’re so frustrating sometimes.”

“I’m still your professor.”

That annoyance turned to nerves as his feet began to bounce and tap in the air, like they did in class when Pete was looking for volunteers to questions no one seemed to have the answer to. “You were my professor the other week, too.” He glanced at Pete, smiling nervously. “Didn’t stop us then.”

Pete sighed quietly. “That was a mistake,” he said slowly. “We agreed.”

“We agreed not to tell anyone, and I didn’t,” Joe argued, leaning his head closer. “Not that it was a mistake.”

He shifted away just enough that Joe’s thigh was no longer warm against his own, and even while his body ached for that heat again, he kept himself perfectly still. “What do you even want from me? I’m not giving you an A just because you’re good in bed.”

Joe’s foot hit the dock this time, and he made a distressed noise. “See? Frustrating. I don’t care if you fail me.” He paused, shaking his head. “Well, I do, but I mean, whatever grade I get I’ll get because I earned it.” At Pete’s raised eyebrow, he quickly added, “By papers and tests and stuff. I just… I’m not asking you for… God!” He laughed, but cut the noise off abruptly as he leaned in to kiss Pete, light enough that Pete could have easily broken it off if he wanted to, but with enough pressure that it was clear what he wanted.

Pete should have pulled back, just as he should have done so at the club. But like that night, he leaned in more, closing his eyes.

“I like you,” Joe whispered, pressing their foreheads together.

For a moment, Joe had a panicked expression on his face as Pete climbed to his feet, but it eased as he held out his hand to help Joe to his feet. “Come on,” he said, motioning back toward the two tents. “It’s a lot warmer in there.”

“Seriously?”

Pete sighed, and motioned again. “Now, Joe. Before I change my mind.”

\---

They weren’t naked in the morning, but they weren’t far off, either. Joe had on Pete’s hoodie – that he wanted back, right now, it was one of his favorites – because they’d both been freezing and Pete vaguely recalled Joe asking if could wear it, and Pete being crazy enough to say yes. He didn’t fare quite so well. His boxers were still on, though half-slid down over his ass from moving around in the night, and his feet weren’t freezing so he assumed he was still wearing his socks. Their backpacks are resting in the bottom of the tent, one of top of Pete’s foot which had since fallen asleep. 

Joe was curled up into his side, drooling a little from where his head is pressed against the bottom of the sleeping bag and Pete’s side. It was an awkward angle, and Pete saw no possible way to get up without waking Joe up first.

Which is how he validated punching Joe’s arm.

“Ow!”

Joe frowned, blinking up at him in confusion. For a second, Pete almost felt bad, but then he pointed to the hoodie and squirmed to get up and free his foot from under the backpack. “You have to get up,” he said, stretching his arms. “Mark might come looking to help, and you kind of can’t be in my tent.”

“Professor Hoppus likes to sleep,” Joe argued, still groggy. His voice cracked a bit at the end, and he sat up too, fishing through his backpack for something. He removed a pair of black-framed glasses, sliding them on lopsidedly, and then adjusting them before looking back at Pete. “He’s not coming to help.”

“Bus call’s at ten,” Pete said. “We don’t know what time it is.”

Joe removed something else from the bag, and held up his phone to show Pete the dimly lit numbers. “It’s not even six in the morning.”

Pete crossed his arms, frowning. “Just give me my hoodie.”

He rolled his eyes, but unzipped it and slid it off, handing it in a crumpled ball to Pete. “There,” he snapped, before laying back down and closing his eyes.

Pete poked at him a moment later, but Joe just pretended to snore, and after a moment, Pete laid back down too to stare at the roof of the tent.

\---

Pete had a moment of panic in which he thought Mark, or someone, was totally going to know what they’d done the night before. But when Joe and Pete came strolling in, looking exhausted, Mark just handed them each a PopTart. “Long night?” he asked, and Pete had never been so thankful that he wasn’t blushing.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, and rolled his shoulder to work out a kink, as proof. Of what, he wasn’t entirely certain.

Mark nodded. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe.”

Joe was already walking away from them, munching on his PopTart and going to tell DeMar something about their little raccoon friend. He strained to listen, but they were too far off, and then the bus was pulling up and this time Pete really did have to do role call.

\---

A week later, when Pete arrived for his office hours, he paused in unraveling his scarf to take note of the neon lime flyer that he certainly hadn’t shoved under his office door. He picked it up, glancing at the name on the flyer (Fall Out Boy – and what the hell kind of a name for a band was that?) and was almost ready to throw it away when he noticed there was writing in the corner of the flyer, in familiar cramped letters.

_You should come._

The show was almost an hour and a half away, in some bar in Milwaukee Pete almost recognized the name of as maybe one he and Jon had hit up years before. It definitely meant no one else he knew would be there.

He carefully placed the flyer on his desk, under the stack of papers he needed to grade. Just in case.

\---

Once Pete was in the bar, he was more than certain he and Jon had played this bar. Or maybe they hadn’t, and it was just like every other of its kind in the Midwest. The acoustics were shit, and his drink had obviously been watered down, but it was cheap and there was a surprising number of locals gathered around the small stage set off to one side, waiting.

Pete claimed a booth toward the back, but he got restless by the second drink (even though he wasn’t even buzzed at all) and moved to stand with the crowd, just off to the side.

He was about to change his mind again, or at least kill the girl beside him who kept rattling on about how awesome Good Charlotte was, and how that Basketcase song was her favorite. But before he got to tell her she might want to look into learning anything whatsoever about music, the house lights were dimming and four mostly nervous teenagers were hurrying on stage to scattered applause.

Pete wasn’t standing directly in front of anyone’s direct eyeline, but he caught Joe’s eyes scanning the crowd once he was in front of his mic, and their eyes caught for the briefest of moments. Joe flashed him a smile, looking positively smug, and Pete might have left then and there, except he didn’t really want to.

The music wasn’t much better than it had been that first night in Schiller Park. But Joe still moved with precision and skill, sliding his fingers over the fretboard with ease as he simultaneously tried to get the kids there into the music. It might have worked better if their singer could carry a tune at all, but even Pete was nodding along despite his best efforts to remain unaffected.

When it was over, Pete wandered back over to the bar to wait. He didn’t really figure Joe would have invited him all the way out here without some sort of a plan, so he bided his time with another drink until sure enough, ten minutes later Joe came wandering over. He’d changed shirts, but his skin was still slick with sweat and he was beaming with that post-show glow Pete only sort of remembered.

“Hey,” he said, still smiling widely as he reached in for Pete’s drink and took it without asking, taking a large sip.

Pete arched a brow, but even he knew exactly where this was going. “Hey yourself.”

Joe grinned wider. “You can’t just say you were in the area. It’s an hour and a half away.”

“Maybe I have friends in Milwaukee I’m visiting.”

He laughed, tipping his head back. There was a vein visible there that Pete’s fingers were itching to reach out and touch, or to peel off that shirt, so it seemed fairly pointless to argue anymore. Not even when Joe downed the rest of Pete’s drink and rested his head on his shoulder for a few seconds, murmuring, “You’re driving me home. I already had them leave with our shit, so you kind of have to.”

Well then.

“But hey!” Joe laughed against his ear, and Pete didn’t even think he was drunk – he couldn’t have been, Pete had just watched that show. It was just the after-show high still coursing through his veins, making them all feel drunk. “This time, I kind of did stalk you. So you can be right for once.”

Pete gave him a light shove, but Joe just laughed louder.

\---

Joe started to come back down to earth somewhere between the parking lot and the highway. His foot started to tap anxiously against Pete’s floorboard and he started glancing back at his guitar case, nestled firmly between Pete’s chair and the backseat.

“It’s fine,” Pete snapped after the sixth glance back in two minutes, and Joe rolled his eyes, but he did look straight ahead after that.

“Did you like the show?” he asked suddenly, fidgeting in his seat to look at Pete. He didn’t seem able to sit still. It was a pretty sharp contrast from class, when he looked half-asleep and comatose most of the time. Like every other student.

“It wasn’t bad.”

Joe made a soft noise of displeasure and flipped on the radio, finding the nearest local station and lowering the volume for background noise. “That means no.”

“I told you the first time I met you that you’re better than all those guys.”

He seemed to pause at that, and Pete thought maybe the conversation was over – was about to turn on one of his CDs instead of the radio when Joe spoke up again. “They’re what I have.”

“There’s always other guys in bands.”

Joe shrugged and started to lean back and prop one foot up on the dashboard, but it took one stern look from Pete before he quickly lowered both feet to plant them firmly on the floorboards again. “I don’t mind. It’s just a shitty college band, it’s not a career. I just like that I get to play guitar at all, you know?”

“You really like it?”

Joe smiled and closed his eyes, moving his fingers to air guitar some rift floating through his brain. “It’s like getting high, only better.”

“It’s like you’re overloading your senses,” Pete offered, and this time, it was Joe’s turn to look at him, curious.

“You play?”

Pete shook his head slowly. “Not anymore. Long, long time ago. And not guitar.”

“Drums?” Joe asked, grinning. “I bet you’d like to bang shit.”

He didn’t even bother to make the obvious joke. It was _too_ obvious. “Shut the fuck up. I played bass. Well, I tried.”

“Bass is a poor man’s guitar,” Joe said, but it was more teasing than rude, and Pete just reached over to poke his side. “So why’d you stop?”

“Just a shitty college band not going anywhere, right?”

Joe nodded, thoughtful. “I bet you had good stage presence. Is it like teaching?”

“I think teaching’s less personal,” Pete found himself saying. “Like, you might trust a teacher with a lot of things, but when you’re all in that moment with the music, everyone’s a lot more vulnerable and open.”

And so maybe Pete had never really thought about it like that, but it made sense. Joe just smiled, leaning his head back against the seat to stare ahead at the dark road ahead of them. Lights from the other cars occasionally danced into their field of vision, but the highway was mostly empty, just them and the radio playing under the sound of their voices.

Pete never even bothered to ask where Joe’s place was, and he never offered up the information. Instead, Pete just pulled into an open spot on his street and motioned for Joe to follow. Together, they walked side by side up to his apartment, where Joe kissed him before he even had the door open.

And just like that, they were dating.

\---

They weren’t boyfriends. Pete made it perfectly clear that he hated that word, and the responsibilities that came with it. Joe agreed to go along with it – mostly to keep him happy, Pete suspected, but he was okay with that.

But once Pete stopped fighting the rest, they fell into an easy pattern. Joe started spending every night at Pete’s, and their time was filled fairly evenly between food, studying/grading, and really great sex. Pete was definitely a fan of the sex. They still talked about school, as without it they wouldn’t have had much to say at all, but they both automatically steered clear of any talk of the consequences of their little sleepovers.

And it all felt pretty nice. Pete hadn’t had anyone around for longer than a week since Ashlee, and he’d forgotten how nice it was to have someone to make him coffee before he even woke up (even if that someone insisted on drinking more than half the pot), and how much he loved stupid evenings on his sofa, spent watching TV and arguing over trivial things that didn’t matter.

Like now. Joe was going to get his way, but Pete wasn’t giving in without a fight.

“Chinese,” Joe said, for probably the tenth time in a minute.

“Pizza.”

Joe narrowed his eyes, holding the pile of take-out menus like he was ready to strike out with them at any moment. Happy Panda, nestled on top, looked particularly menacing. “We’ve had pizza twice this week,” he said slowly, holding up the offending Chinese menu. “I want egg rolls.”

Pete snickered, and he could see the corners of Joe’s lips itching to do the same, but this was apparently more serious than possible euphemisms.

“Chinese,” Joe said again, and Pete reached in to carefully take the pile of menus from Joe.

“Okay,” he said slowly when Joe made grabbing motions. “But we’re ordering from that Wa-Ha-Ha place that opened down the street.”

“You just like the name.”

“Like you don’t? Maybe they bring us napkins that say Wa-Ha-Ha on them, man. Think about it.”

When Joe took home some of the napkins the next morning, Pete kept suspiciously quiet, but he was grinning the whole time.

\---

They were both incredibly careful, except where they weren’t at all. Joe always took the red line back to campus in the mornings, sometimes while Pete was finally sneaking in a few scattered but deserved hours of sleep. And Joe always introduced himself as just Joe – no last name (“Like Madonna,” Pete laughed, and Joe balked. “What generation are you from, man? Weren’t they using that joke in the 70’s?” And then Pete had thrown a pillow at his head, and ignored him for the rest of the night, pretending to grade papers and ignore Joe’s reenactment of a one-man play of Star Wars, meant to make him smile again). Just in case.

But Joe had a big test during midterms, and there was just no way to finish studying, take the subway ride out to Pete’s apartment, leave in time for his test, and still get any sleep. So Pete had decided to cut an hour out of Joe’s traveling time, and just come to him, instead.

“You’ll get more studying done at the dorms! And your roommate’s gone,” Pete said, and it must have taken every ounce of self control Joe had not to roll his eyes at him. He could practically feel how much Joe wanted to roll his eyes.

“I’ll get more studying done if you just stay here.” Joe was giving him that look that Pete didn’t quite know how to read, the one that sometimes Pete interpreted as, maybe you should stop following me around and just admit I’m your boyfriend. Or, maybe that was the voice in Pete’s head. Regardless, he ignored it.

“But then there’s no sex. And I’ll bring you dinner! From that Greek place.”

Joe hesitated, but Pete knew he’d won at ‘sex’. The Greek food was just as much for himself as it was for Joe.

However, when Pete showed up to the dorms at 11 o’clock on a Tuesday night, he was starting to understand the fundamental problem here. He’d dressed as much like a student as he could – a large oversize hoodie, which he’d pulled the hood up to before he even got out of his car. But that just made him look more conspicuous, especially amount the Chicago freshmen and sophomores who already considered the first sign of the sun a reason to ditch jackets altogether and don flip-flops. He kept his eyes glued to the fading university carpet, listening to the swishing sound the bag of food made as he carried it up the seven flights of stairs, narrowly dodging several students, until he got to Joe’s floor.

“I feel like a ninja,” he hissed as he dropped the food onto Joe’s bed, closing the door behind himself quickly. Joe looked up from his large textbook, blinking sleepily at him. Pete knew that look – he used to become comatose after too much studying too.

“A ninja?” Joe asked, speaking slowly, as if the word might change its meaning if he focused hard enough. It didn’t.

“Yeah.” Pete waved his hand, making sure the door was securely locked. “There are students all over the place.”

Joe looked around his dorm room, and then back at Pete. “I assumed you knew that dorms had students?”

Pete sighed and flopped down onto the bed. It was smaller than even he remembered, and no cleaner than it had been in his own days as a student. Actually, it looked a lot like the contents of Joe’s backpack – there were bits of paper, everywhere. Some with drawings and sketches on them, some with sheet music. His guitar case was laid carefully in the corner, near a stack of DVDs and old CD cases.

“You draw?” Pete asked, leaning over to pick up one of the drawings. Joe snatched it back, just as quickly.

“Sometimes, but it’s not for looking.”

Pete snorted. “Then maybe you should have cleaned your room before I came over.”

He actually thought Joe might throw him back into the hall, with all of those _students_ , but Pete kissed him before he could do something so cruel. Maybe it was the exhaustion or the real need for a study break, but Joe seemed to melt against him more than usual, one arm wrapping lazily around his waist.

“Pete,” he sighed a few minutes later, bumping their noses together. Pete’s lips were pleasantly swollen and his hands were tangled in the material of Joe’s shirt, but he liked them like that. “Pete,” Joe said again, and Pete tried to focus. Really. “I actually have to study…”

“Alright,” Pete said, and leaned back against the headboard. “You study. I’ll just sit here. Now that I’ve come all this way to see you.”

Pete really didn’t think he deserved to have a book quite that heavy thrown at him.

Somewhere between listening to Joe talk about loss tangents in relation in electromagnetism, Pete fell asleep. The angle wasn’t great, as his neck hurt like hell a few hours later when he started to come to, aware of someone taking off his shoes.

“What are you doing?” he asked, tired, and looking down at Joe. The room was still dark – the sun definitely wasn’t up, but Joe had turned off all the lights. He could only make out his basic outline, fiddling around with Pete’s left shoelaces.

“What do you think, moron?” Joe sighed. He sounded particularly tired as he crawled onto the bed as well, and Pete went to reach for him, but he stopped short, fingers moving toward the zipper of his jeans instead.

“What time is it? Did you get any sleep?”

He didn’t have to see Joe to know he was smiling. “That’s really what you want to think about right now?”

“You didn’t,” Pete pointed out, even as his hips rolled up instinctively toward Joe’s hands. The zipper was already down, and Joe was sliding the material slowly down his hips. “You should sleep before your big test.”

“I can sleep after,” Joe whispered, which struck Pete as odd, as there was no one else around to disturb. But then Joe was sliding up enough to kiss him, even as his hands kept pushing the material of the denim further down his legs, until Pete had to do the rest and kick them to the bottom of the bed.

They didn’t usually do it like this. Pete was always the one to top, and the first to get on his knees. “You like to be in control,” Joe muttered one night, when he was sure Pete was too tired to argue. Occasionally, though, this was a pleasant surprise. Especially as Joe scratched his fingers down Pete’s chest with just the right amount of pressure before sliding down – and oh, Pete hadn’t even noticed he’d taken his shirt off, but he could certainly feel it now.

“You came all this way for me,” Joe mimicked Pete’s earlier words, but he was laughing quietly into his skin, and Pete only pushed at his shoulders a little. He was too tired for any sort of witty comeback.

“Shut it,” he murmured, and Joe made sure his mouth was busy doing other things. When he got low enough, he nipped at the inside of Pete’s thigh, and Pete jumped a little, surprised. He could still feel Joe shaking with silent laughter, and he thought to comment about cruelty to others, when Joe wrapped his fingers slowly around his cock and started to take the head into his mouth, with just the right amount of suction.

Pete leaned his head back, groaning quietly. The walls weren’t paper thin, but even he knew better than to make a ruckus. He hissed instead, sliding his fingers down to grasp at the pale blue sheets there, gripping tightly. Joe just took him further into his mouth, letting his fingers dig into Pete’s thighs to try and still their movements as Pete tried, somewhat frantically, to thrust up into his mouth.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop, just,” Pete gasped, and couldn’t even finish the thought. Joe hesitated, but he slid his fingers across skin that felt like it was on fire, but relief washed over him when they wrapped around the base of his cock, moving in slow, steady tandem to his mouth as he continued to move over Pete.

It took longer than it normally would have as Pete’s body fought to wake up fully, but Joe kept at it, reaching up once to grip at Pete’s hand and intertwine their fingers. He’d never done that before, but it made Pete shiver, like they were connected in that moment, and then he was coming in Joe’s mouth.

Joe pulled back after a moment and slid up to his length, curling around him like he did back at Pete’s place. He was taller (though not by much), but Pete moved around too much for them both to sleep the other way, and Joe seemed to like having a human pillow, at least for a few hours.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Pete said, pressing his lips against Joe’s forehead. He could hear his breathing evening out, but knew he wasn’t asleep. He couldn’t – it was almost six, and Joe’s test was in an hour.

“I know,” Joe sighed, and reached for his hand again. Pete let him, amused at Joe’s sleepy movements, the way he seemed to play with Pete’s fingers without even realizing what he was doing. “I’m glad you came. Over. Here, not the other. Shut up.” He yawned around his smile, and Pete would have been too tired to make the joke anyway.

“Are you ready for your test?”

Joe yawned again, and shrugged. “I hope so. I fucking hate gen ed, man.”

“What’s the equation for circular motion?”

“Centripetal acceleration? Velocity squared over radius, right?”

Pete snorted, pulling Joe closer. “Fuck if I know.”

\---

Pete sent Joe out the door, stumbling and bleary-eyed, and waited five minutes before making his own escape. Unfortunately, he must not have been in full-on ninja mode (he knew he was more in zombie mode – he hadn’t even bothered to pull his hood up this time, as he knew no lazy student of his would ever be awake at such an ungodly hour), as two steps from the glorious exit that led to his freedom, a girl looked up from the bench by the door and gave him a puzzled look.

“Professor Wentz?” she asked, surprised. “What are you doing here so late? Or early, I guess.”

“Uhhh.” He looked around the mostly empty corridor. There was no real reason to be here, at all, at any hour. “I was looking for coffee?” He only vaguely recognized her, and knew she hadn’t been one of his own. It was possible she was in Mark’s intro class, and had seen him the day he came to talk about the exhibition. He was still trying to put the pieces together when she fixed him with a blinding smile, very unbefitting for the hour, and stood.

“That’s in the other tower. I can take you.’

He was actually getting coffee out of this? Pete texted Joe to tell him on the subway ride back home, but they agreed from now on, they’d stick to his part of town. It just seemed safer.

\---

 

“You haven’t been to poker night in three weeks,” Jon said, eyeing Pete from the other side of the sofa. “In fact, I think the only reason we’re seeing you now is because you’re hosting it.”

Pete waved him off, adding the finishing touches to their h'orderves plate. If it mostly consisted of Doritos and iced animal crackers, well. They’d live. “I’ve been busy,” he said, bringing the plate over and setting it down on the coffee table.

The others weren’t set to get there for another half hour, but Jon usually came over early to help Pete get ready. If he didn’t, it would never get done in time – and Jon sort of had a curfew, as Cassie liked to see him before she had to go to bed.

Jon didn’t look like he was buying this story at all, though. “You haven’t even called. Ashlee said you’ve stopped doing lunch dates with her.”

“Is Ashlee your girlfriend now? Whatever must Cassie think?”

Jon’s cheeks flushed, and Pete stopped dead in his tracks. “She’s not your girlfriend, right?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Pete. No!”

He shrugged and went to fetch them each a beer. Joe kept making steady work of the ones he bought in the gas station, but he kept some good stuff – German import – hidden for just such occasions. “Well, I apparently haven’t seen you in three weeks, and the world ended. So, you never know.”

“Maybe I had stuff to talk to you about.” Jon crossed his arms, but only until Pete offered him the beer. He looked decidedly more friendly after that.

“Maybe a telephone works two ways?”

Jon sighed and took a long sip of the beer, looking away. “I’m not dating Ashlee.”

Pete nodded. “Good. It would never last.”

“I’m not dating Cassie either, though, Pete.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but once the words had processed through his brain, he closed it again, slowly.

“We broke up two weeks ago.” Jon was fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable. “She didn’t like how much time I was spending at the gallery with Tom. And… I couldn’t really blame her. I was spending too much time with Tom at the gallery. With Tom.”

Pete wasn’t great at verbal cues, but this one, he thought maybe he had down. He narrowed his eyes a little. “So. Tom?”

Jon nodded again, slower. “Tom.”

“That’s going to make me kicking his ass at poker a little more awkward, isn’t it? When he’s fucking my best friend?”

Jon choked on his beer, but he smiled for the first time since he’d walked into the apartment. Pete actually felt a little proud of himself. Usually, he sucked at diffusing awkward situations. Maybe it was just because it was Jon.

“So where the hell have you been, man? Ashlee thinks you’ve got some new girlfriend you don’t want us to know about. And Sean thinks you’re fucking that Mark guy, but I think that’s just because Sean wants to be fucking him.”

“I’ve just been busy, Jon,” Pete laughed, popping a handful of Doritos into his mouth. The crumbs spilled over from his hand, falling down onto his shirt. He just shrugged and wiped them off onto the floor – not like the maid wasn’t coming in the morning.

“You know I don’t buy that for a second, right?”

Pete flashed him a smile, but then the doorbell rang, and he was running off to answer it. Ashlee was also suspiciously early, but she gave him a friendly hug, launching into some story about the latest university gossip he’d missed out on, and he promised her they’d do lunch the next day.

\---

Pete was pleasantly surprised that Ashlee held off until the lunch to bring up his recent absence. In fact, she made it through half her salad before leaning closer and making sure at least her cleavage held his attention before narrowing her eyes and asking, “So, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, slowly lifting his eyes to her face. He’d have felt guilty, but, well. She knew what he was like.

“You’ve been avoiding everyone lately. And lying about where you’ve been.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand to silence him. “Like hell you were grading papers when you canceled on me last week. I paid one of your students to give me your syllabus. You don’t even have papers due for another month.”

“That’s an invasion of my privacy!”

She arched a brow, staring him down. “I got the idea from you when you paid one of my TAs to give you my monthly calendar.”

He smiled sheepishly, but leaned back, only a little more subdued.

“That still doesn’t explain where you’ve been.”

“No. I guess it doesn’t.” He really had to get better at lying if he wanted to keep this up. Ashlee narrowed her eyes, and he sighed, shaking his head. “I’m seeing someone,” he admitted after a moment, because it just seemed easier than trying to throw her off the trail she was clearly already on. “But I’m just not ready to introduce you guys, alright?”

“Why?”

That was the question.

“He’s not out,” Pete said quickly, and Ashlee didn’t look entirely convinced, but she wasn’t giving him death glares anymore.

“Bring him to poker one night,” Ashlee said, sliding the last of her croissant toward him in a peace offering. “You don’t have to introduce him as anything other than… What’s his name?”

“Joe,” he said, around a mouth full of croissant.

There was no way in hell he was bringing Joe to poker, but she didn’t need to know that.

\---

April really was the cruelest month. At least that’s the way it felt after a day driving to every university and marine bio-lab in area, in search of volunteers and funding, followed by an extra long staff meeting. By the time he stumbled up the stairwell of his apartment, he was half dead on his feet, only just able to support the weight of his backpack and the bag of takeout in his hand.

He paused briefly at the sight of Joe sitting on the floor in his hall, head leaned back against the door. When he spotted Pete, he scrambled to his feet.

“Hey,” Pete greeted, a small frown of confusion forming as Joe moved quickly out of his way so he could unlock the door. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a thing with your friends.”

“It got canceled,” Joe told him and held up a bag of, now cold, Chinese food. “I thought I’d surprise you.”

Pete kissed him absently and opened the door, yawning again. “I am surprised.” He held the door for Joe, dropped his backpack and kicked off his shoes – mostly amazed that he even still had the motor functions to do any of that. “How long were you waiting?”

“A while,” Joe said with a shrug. “I thought you’d be home.”

They both headed immediately for the kitchen. Pete made quick work of the wrapper on his meatball sub and took a large bite while Joe put the plastic containers of Chinese in the microwave.

“I had to go recruiting, remember?” Pete said, mouth still full and watching the microwave, hopeful. “Is there enough for me?”

Joe nodded and opened the fridge, pulling out two bottles of beer and sliding one in front of Pete before the microwave beeped and he began to sort out the food. Pete made grabby hands, but Joe just slapped him away as he dished out the contents onto two plates.

“Did you even eat at all today?” Joe asked, clearly amused, as he ushered Pete into the living room and onto the sofa.

“I was busy,” Pete said, as though that were an explanation. The truth was, he’d been offered a free lunch at Illinois State, but it had somehow looked even less appetizing than DePaul’s usual fare. “But I found some more donors and a few more contacts.”

“That’s good,” Joe said, giving him an easy smile. Pete nodded in agreement and finished the sub before gratefully accepting the plate of food from Joe.

“This is totally why you’re awesome sometimes,” Pete said around another mouthful of food, but Joe just snorted into his beer.

“Awesome enough to be spared America’s Next Top Model?” Joe asked hopefully as he curled his legs under him. When Pete really looked, Joe looked almost as tired as he felt, so he chose to ignore the way Joe leaned into him, more focused on his beer than the TV anyway.

“Never,” Pete said, snatching the remote from the coffee table. “You know you like it just as much as I do.”

“You don’t even like it! You just want to mock.”

Pete stared at him blankly before a moment before changing the channel. “That’s the whole point, you know that, right?”

“I see you practicing your smizing in the mirror,” Joe muttered around the beer bottle, but they just pushed at each other playfully and let the comment slide once the show started. Pete barely even made it through the opening credits before Pete’s yawning became more frequent, until eventually Joe had to rescue Pete’s plate before it destroyed both the Chinese and the sofa.

It didn’t take much coaxing to convince Pete that bed was the best solution, and even less coaxing to get him out of his clothes. He made a halfhearted effort at getting Joe in the mood, but he kept breaking the kisses to yawn until finally Joe was in hysterics on his side of the bed, shoving a pillow in Pete’s face and telling him, “This is pathetic, just _sleep_.”

“The honeymoon is over,” Pete mumbled, but shifted the pillow around and curled up into it. Sleep sounded so good. But Joe was still talking. Why the hell was Joe still talking?

“The honeymoon never started. I never even got a key,” Joe argued, and then leaned closer. “You know, if I had a key, I wouldn’t have to sit in the hall.”

“Nice try, Trohman,” Pete yawned, and he felt more than heard Joe sigh beside him, but then he was blissfully asleep and hogging all the blankets.

 

\---

 

Two days later when Pete returned to find Joe sitting in a similar situation in his hallway, his head bent forward toward his knees, he laughed. “You really want that key, don’t you?” he asked, already reaching for his own, before he noticed Joe wasn’t smiling at all.

Joe wiped his eyes quickly and made a distinct sniffling noise. Pete frowned, hand poised over the doorknob. “What’s wrong?”

He smiled sadly, and Pete could tell now that his eyes were red. He didn’t know exactly how long Joe had been sitting here, or how long he’d been crying, but it was obvious even now he was trying to stop. “Matt’s an idiot,” he sighed, and Pete nodded slowly, all for general agreement on that count. He hadn’t actually met the kid yet, but what he’d heard, Matt sounded very much like an idiot.

Joe took in a deep breath and wiped at his eyes again. “He was picking me up from practice, and he ran over my fucking guitar.”

“Ouch.”

Joe laughed, miserable, and nodded. “And I know you think it’s just some guitar, I can buy a new one, but I’m so broke and my dad bought me that guitar for graduation and... It’s a sign, Pete. A sign that I shouldn’t be in a band.” He sighed, wiping angrily at his eyes again. “I didn’t know where else to go, but I was so mad at him and I didn’t want to go back to the room with him. But you weren’t here and…”

Pete frowned and bent to take Joe’s arm, carefully helping him to his feet. “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s get you inside.”

Joe leaned against him, pressing his nose into Pete’s neck and inhaling. It tickled, but Pete just maneuvered them to the bedroom, where he made sure they both had their shoes off before letting Joe curl around him in the bed, wrapping one arm protectively over him. He could feel the way Joe’s breathing was still uneven as he calmed himself down, until eventually their chests rose and fell against each other in exact opposition.

“You should have a key,” Pete whispered into the darkness, and he felt Joe tense against him, but only for a moment. Then he was pressing his face into Pete’s shirt, and whispering something back, but it was too soft for Pete to make out.

 

\---

Pete still felt pretty guilty for missing the first opening night for a show at Jon and Tom’s gallery, so when Jon hand delivered him the invitation for the second show, Pete figured he probably shouldn’t spend the night having sex and Chinese food, again.

“What’s this?” Joe asked, tapping the invitation that Pete had stuck to the freezer door, glancing at it again as he began to scoop out ice cream into two bowls.

“Uh, what does it look like?”

Joe rolled his eyes, and made sure to take the bowl with slightly more ice cream just to get annoy Pete. “You don’t strike me as being into art.”

“I am a man of refined taste,” Pete said, making grabbing motions at the other bowl of ice cream as Joe said down at the counter beside him. “Now give.”

Joe inched the bowl closer along the counter, laughing when Pete finally just snatched it from him. “Of course you are.” A drop of the ice cream fell from Joe’s spoon to land on his hand, but he licked it off in one quick, motion. “We both are.”

“Clearly,” Pete dead-panned.

“Can you imagine?” Joe asked, his eyes lighting up as he stared at the rainbow-colored contents of his bowl, “if the world was made of food? Like, snow would be ice cream. You could eat it.”

“You can eat snow now,” Pete said, and had to bite down on his lip to keep from smiling too much.

Joe waved him off, undeterred. “But it would actually taste like something, see. What if snow tasted like vanilla or lime sorbet? Though, green snow might be weird.”

“You are a freak.”

It took all of two seconds before they both started laughing, any mention of the art gallery forgotten. And Pete had almost forgotten about the invitation at all until later that week, when Jon called to remind him not to be late.

And he wasn’t. Not too late, anyway.

Jon pulled him into a hug the second he was through the door, and whisked him off to show him his own section of paintings, hung thoughtfully in one corner of the room. “This is my favorite,” Jon said, pointing out a shot Pete hadn’t seen in years, of himself sitting backstage at one of the shitty bars they played, laughing and clinging to his bass in the shadows.

“I like everything else but that,” Pete said, but he was smiling as Jon laughed again, tipping his head back. It struck Pete then that it had been months since he’d seen Jon look as relaxed and happy as he did in that moment, and how at ease he seemed in his own gallery.

“How’s the Antarctica thing going?” Jon asked a few minutes later, once Pete had finished congratulating Jon properly on the gallery and his photographs.

“Good,” Pete said, nodding slowly. “I think we’ve finally got all the funding we need. I found an environmental company willing to back me what the university’s grant won’t cover, so now it’s just taking care of details… Maybe we’ll all get rich and you can come visit me. I bet there’d be awesome stuff to take photos of.”

“I bet it’s even colder than here,” Jon countered, but his smile was still wide, his nerves singing from the excitement radiating off the patrons wandering around. “But yeah. Maybe.”

“Go on,” Pete laughed, giving him a small push when Jon glanced back at the people starting to gather around. “Go be an important artist.”

Jon gave him one last hug before hurrying off.

Pete eventually found Tom, but he was just as busy as Jon (though decidedly less comfortable at dealing with strangers). Finally, when he found Ashlee in a corner, taking in some of the abstract art, he wandered over. “I like photography better,” Pete said, tipping his head to the side as he looked at the canvas of squiggles and splashed paint she was standing in front of.

Ashlee nodded absently. “You like things you can understand, so long as it’s not you.”

“Ohhh, put that psych minor to good use, baby. Do me some more.”

She laughed, for real – he could always tell because that laugh was louder and somehow awkward, like an overexcited schoolgirl’s giggle. But that was the laugh that had made him think once he could fall in love with her. In the end, no one had been in love – but that laugh still made him wish sometimes that he had been. That he could have been at all.

“Come on,” she said, sliding her hand into his. “I know you’re bored, but I bet you haven’t even seen the graffiti set.”

“Graffiti?” Pete asked, hopeful, and allowed himself to be pulled past various other installations – a bronze sculpture of a flying bicycle caught his eye, but he just made a mental note to come back later, when Ashlee wouldn’t make fun of him. He paused, though, when they passed a wall full of receipts.

“What?” Ashlee asked, and Pete waved her off, stepping closer. It wasn’t much to look at – Pete wasn’t really even certain that it was art. It was just hundreds of receipts, tacked onto a wall, covering it.

“This is what you find interesting?” she asked, and he could tell without looking that she was smiling, likely shaking her head in fond amusement at him. He waved her off, leaning closer to read some of the receipts. One was for some supplies at a hardware store, with a note scribbled at the bottom about how long the checkout line was. Another was for a restaurant, with the words ‘she looked beautiful tonight’ written in scrawling letters over the tip line.

“Bizarre,” Ashlee said, watching Pete more than the receipts. Finally, though, she turned her head to a small plaque off to the side. “A year in receipts. This… really isn’t that interesting, you know, Pete.”

“It’s cool,” he argued, scanning over the titles of books purchased on another receipt. “It’s kind of intimate, don’t you think? I bet you could tell a lot about this guy from just his receipts.”

Ashlee was still eyeing him with vague curiosity, none of which Pete really bought had anything to do with the receipts. “How’s Joe?” Ashlee asked suddenly, and Pete faltered for a moment until he remembered he had at least given her his name. He shrugged, trying quickly to recover.

“He’s fine.”

“There must be some reason you’re hiding him away. You called Jon ten minutes after we slept together the first time to tell him all about it.” He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand to stop him. “My bathroom walls aren’t that thick, Pete.”

Well. That was a definite bruise to his ego, but he just kept scanning over the receipts, trying to think of something to say. “Jon looks happy,” he offered instead, glancing behind them to where he stood with Tom, holding his hand as they chatted happily along with some yuppie looking students. He saw Tom’s other hand slide along Jon’s back, the way Cassie had always done when Jon started to talk too much. Some days, Pete felt like he’d stepped into the Twilight Zone, or like the world had shifted when he’d been busy elsewhere.

When he looked back at Ashlee, her lips were pursed, a sure sign that she was thinking, and that no good was going to come of it.

“What about this graffiti stuff?” he asked, and she laughed, but it was the quieter, polite laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, come on.”

\---

The stack of neon flash cards was starting to thin, along with Joe’s patience. He’d been glaring across the sofa at Pete for at least the last fifteen minutes. But Pete remained undeterred, holding up a green card.

“Carbon dioxide and water,” Joe sighed, fiddling with the remote for something to do with his hands.

Pete frowned, flipping the card back over. “What the hell was the question?”

“You wrote the cards!” Joe laughed, leaning his head forward. “Oh my god. Can we be done studying now? I want sex. You promised me sex.”

“I will not have you failing my test,” Pete argued, holding up another card. “Now, this question is something about density-dependent regulation.”

Joe laughed again, but it was tired sounding, as he leaned over to flip the card for Pete. “No, man. That was the answer.”

“Fuck.”

“You know I passed tests without your help, right? You know I’m not sleeping with you in order to get help on your test? Though, don’t be confused here, Pete. You’re not helping.” Pete opened his mouth to argue, but Joe just smiled patiently at him, shaking his head. “I can do this on my own. I _want_ to pass your test all on my own.”

And Pete wanted that too, because he hated the idea that he was giving Joe any sort of special favors (not counting the sexual ones, because he definitely didn’t hate that idea) over his other students. It was just that he felt guilty for being the main reason Joe didn’t always study as much as he should have. He’d have felt a lot worse if the student he was sleeping with failed, because of him, than he would have if he was sleeping with passed, because of him.

It all made sense. In his head.

“Let’s have sex,” Joe tried again, his hand already sliding along Pete’s thigh. “Because sex is awesome.” Part of Pete wanted to agree and drag Joe off to the bedroom, but he was firm in his commitment to making sure Joe passed his test without him fudging the grades. He’d already convinced himself that the flashcards were something he would have done for any student, if they ever actually came to him for help.

“Endocrine disruption,” Pete said, blatantly ignoring the way Joe’s hand was creeping under his shirt.

“Or,” Joe said, scratching lightly at the skin there. Pete twitched, but it was involuntary. Completely just a reflex. “We could go dancing.”

Well, shit.

They didn’t do it every weekend, because going somewhere close meant the odds of running into someone they knew increased dramatically. But some nights, Pete was willing to drive them somewhere far and remote from the city, to whatever busy, loud club they could find, and knock back a few drinks before putting his hands all over Joe.

He sighed, dropping the flash cards onto the coffee table. They fanned outward, creating a mix-matched study rainbow. “Fine, but if you get less than an A on this test, I am making you watch every 80’s movie in this house.”

Joe crossed his arms, smiling a little. “Empire Strikes Back was 1980, you know.”

“And consider that, compared to how many Michael J. Fox movies I own.”

Joe made a face in displeasure, but he was already moving to get his jacket. “I’m going to do fine,” he called over his shoulder. “And endocrine disruptors are pollutants that mimic hormones and cause birth defects. DDT, Bisphenol A, shall I continue?”

“No,” Pete mumbled, but when he went to change shirts and was out of Joe’s line of sight, he found himself smiling.

\---

He already felt like he’d had too much to drink even though they’d only been there for an hour, but the room and lights seemed to keep skittering in his vision, a constant blur of color and bodies. Joe was pressed tight against him, laughing in his ear and twirling his hips against Pete’s in rhythm to the music.

It had been a long week of lesson planning and meeting with his supervisors, of trying to find housing on a whole other continent for the fall, of not nearly enough sleep. That all seemed to melt away here, where he could slide his hands down to grasp Joe’s hips, pulling him in even closer until he could feel his half-hard cock pressing against his leg with just the right amount of friction.

This really did beat studying.

"Do you want another drink?" Pete shouted eventually and Joe laughed as he nodded, linking their fingers together so they could fight through the crowd to get to the bar without losing one another in the rush of bodies. Joe stood a little behind Pete, resting his chin on Pete's shoulder while he ordered two more of the brightly colored drinks that had served them well so far.

“What’s with you and the neon tonight?” Joe laughed, but accepted it anyway, taking a greedy sip. His lips were stained blue from the last one – or maybe it was just the lights – but it made Pete think of popsicles in the summer, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss him and see if his own lips turned the same shade.

He laughed as well, the noise getting lost somewhere in the room. Instead, he plucked two paper umbrellas from a canister of them sitting on the bar, and dropped one into his own glass before reaching up to place the other in Joe’s hair. It wasn’t going to stay for more than a minute, but it was blue, and matched the color of his lips and eyes – and Pete liked that.

"You're cute," came a voice from his left and it took Pete a moment to realize it was being addressed at him. 

"Uh, thanks?" he said back to the girl, who was grinning brightly at him. "I think."

The girl shook her head. "I meant you and your boyfriend," she continued, leaning closer. 

Joe grinned and put his head back on Pete's shoulder, the paper umbrella dangling precautiously from a few strands of hair. "Thanks," he said.

"I'm not his boyfriend," Pete corrected, turning around and wrapping his arms around Joe’s neck. The umbrella fell completely to the floor, but he leaned in anyway to kiss him, quickly, the umbrella already forgotten. "He is cute though, you were right about that."

The girl shrugged and turned back to take her place at the bar, and Pete downed some of the bright green concoction swirling around in his own glass, not noticing the way Joe was standing very still, staring him down.

“You want to go dance?” he yelled into Joe’s ear a moment later, when all they held in their hands were empty glasses. For a moment, Pete found it odd that Joe didn’t reach for his hand as they fought their way back inside the dance floor, but he pushed the thought aside and focused instead of not losing sight of Joe’s fleeting back. He got trapped between two frat boys dancing like idiots to impress a blonde girl who looked bored, and by the time he’d pushed his way through to the other side, Joe was nowhere to be seen.

There were too many people, everywhere, and the flashing lights from overhead made everything harder to see, like the room was an old movie reel, only some of the frames were missing and his vision kept skipping. Pete pulled out his phone once to text Joe, but a girl almost knocked it out of his hand, and so the Blackberry quickly went back inside his pocket, where it was protected.

_Where the hell was Joe?_

He didn’t know how much time passed, but finally, Pete spotted him – or rather, them. Joe was pressed tight against some kid with bleached blonde hair who looked like he was Joe’s age, and whose hand was resting entirely too comfortably on Joe’s ass. As Pete started to work his way closer to them, Joe caught his eye once and seemed to up his ante, grinding against the other guy while arching back against his hand and leaning in for a kiss.

Pete tugged sharply on Joe’s arm when he got close enough to touch, narrowing his eyes. “We’re leaving,” he snapped, ignoring the way Blondie was staring at him, confused, and the way that Joe refused to look at him.

“No,” Joe said, the words almost lost under the techno music blaring overhead. His own hands were now under the kid’s shirt, sliding up his back, and Pete wasn’t certain how they’d gotten there when he swore a minute ago they’d been in plain sight. He frowned, tugging again.

“Now, Joe.”

“He said no, man,” Blondie said, shooting him a glare. “Get lost.”

Pete reached out again for Joe’s arm, and when he pulled this time, there was no mistaking the movement for anything but anger. Joe made a surprised noise, and turned to glare at Pete, but he barely got the chance before Pete was dragging him through the crowd, bumping into people in every direction – but his grip on Joe’s arm didn’t loosen until they were outside, standing in the cool Chicago night air and staring each other down.

“Fuck you,” Joe hissed, reaching to rub his arm. “You didn’t have to do that, I’m not a kid.”

“No? You’re acting like one.” He could see their breath hanging in the air, and tried to tell himself to calm down, to relax, but his breath kept coming out in ragged pants – the rage refusing to subside. “Get in the fucking car, Joe.”

It seemed as if Joe was going to bolt as he glanced behind him, toward the open, empty street, but there was nowhere to go. He glared at Pete again and crossed his arms. “Why?”

“Because I fucking said so. Or would you rather go fuck that kid?” His own hands itched to find Blondie again and throw him down onto the ground, even though he obviously hadn’t done anything Joe hadn’t already been offering.

“Would you care?” Joe asked, breaking his thoughts.

“I said, get in the car.” Pete’s eyes narrowed more, and he stared Joe down until finally, he stalked off, marching toward the car and getting into the backseat. The back door slammed before Pete had even reached the driver’s seat.

The ride back was filled with silence, except for the sound of the wheels churning over gravel and concrete on the long drive back. Somewhere around Evanston Pete started to lose the anger that had been boiling just under the surface, and as he glanced back at Joe, and saw the way he was staring out the window into the blank emptiness around them, he almost felt bad.

Almost.

“What the hell was that?” he asked as they neared his own neighborhood, slowing the car down to begin the long search for empty parking on the street.

“Nothing.” He was still purposefully not looking at Pete, keeping his eyes trained out the window.

Pete snorted, pulling into an open parking spot. “You’re a shitty liar.”

In the rearview mirror, Pete could see the lines of Joe’s face hardening. He didn’t get angry much – just that one time when Pete refused to stop squirting Joe with the new kitchen spray nozzle, no matter how many times Joe begged him not to ruin the new shirt his mom had sent him – but Pete still knew that look, and he felt the last of his own anger slipping away.

“Yeah?” Joe asked, crossing his arms. “You’re a shitty person.”

Pete turned the key in the ignition and turned around to face Joe. He was at least looking at Pete this time, eyes narrowed and face drawn up tight. This was even worse than the kitchen spray nozzle incident.

“What the hell is your problem tonight?” Pete sighed, already wishing this conversation were over.

“My problem? Do you really have to ask? Oh, wait, of course you do. Because you just love playing dumb.”

“What are you even talking about?” His head was starting to hurt. All Pete wanted was an Aspirin and a shower, to wash off the remains of this night.

“You. We’re talking about you. Which might be a bit of a surprise, considering we never really do. I’m not your boyfriend, Pete? What exactly am I?”

“That’s what this is about?”

At least Pete still had the sense to pull back when Joe reached out to punch his arm. They stared at each other from the four feet or so that the car offered until finally Joe’s shoulders sank in defeat and he climbed out of the car, moving ahead of Pete up the stairs to the apartment, as Pete hurried after him to catch up.

“We agreed,” Pete tried again, once they’d made it inside his place. He kicked his shoes off, trying to ignore the way Joe was watching him from a few feet away. “We agreed we just didn’t like that word.”

Joe laughed, but it sounded tired. “We didn’t agree on anything. You agreed. And it’s just a _word_ , Pete. We are, though. We’re dating. We’re living together, and we’re boyfriends, and you just need to accept that.”

“Don’t I get any say in it?”

“No.”

Pete frowned at him. “I don’t want to be someone’s boyfriend.”

Joe tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling a moment before he looked back at Pete, suddenly looking as tired as he sounded. “A word doesn’t change anything. It’s just a stupid word.”

“So what does it matter if we don’t use it?”

“Because it hurts me, you asshole. Because I love you.”

Well, that sort of changed things.

Pete half expected Joe to take the words back, or to look like he hadn’t meant to say them here, now. But he just looked worn down, and he kept staring at Pete, like he was waiting for him to say something. Instead, he took a few tentative steps closer, and Joe didn’t back down.

“You do?” he asked, and almost didn’t recognize his own voice from the way it seemed to break at the end.

There was the smallest of smiles on Joe’s face as he nodded, closing the rest of the distance between them, wrapping an arm loosely around Pete’s waist. “And you love me too,” he whispered, and it sounded almost like a plea. 

Pete closed his eyes, fingers already tangled in the curls at the back of Joe’s head, and he could feel Joe’s breath against his jaw, just a few centimeters away. The urge to close that distance was stronger than anything Pete had felt in months, maybe even years. He nodded, slowly.

“You’re going to get me fired,” he whispered.

Joe tightened his own grip on Pete, shaking his head – but their noses bumped, and he started to pull back just a fraction, but Pete wouldn’t let him. “I’m not,” he said, and when Pete opened his eyes briefly, Joe’s were startlingly close. “I promise.”

If Pete had learned anything over the years, it was that promises were pretty useless. “No promises. Don’t,” he started, but didn’t know how to end the thought. Instead, he whispered, “No one else gets to touch you.”

“No one,” Joe swore. “I don’t want anyone else.”

Pete leaned that final inch closer, brushing their lips together, and Joe did the rest.

Soon, they were both pawing at one another’s clothes, fingers digging just a little bit rougher than necessary into skin, trying to hold on, to press down, to make _stay_. And for a moment, when Pete finally backed him up onto his bed and Joe’s hand found his in the dark, Pete thought maybe they really would.

Maybe this time.

\---

“I hate you,” Pete said, leaning his head back against the brick wall. It was too hot outside, and they’d lost the shade of the few sparse trees on the street when they’d moved forward with the line currently wrapped around the side of Hot Doug’s.

Jon shrugged, giving him a lopsided smile. “Best hot dogs in the city, and you know it. It’s always worth the wait.”

Pete’s stomach grumbled in agreement, and he silently called it a traitor.

“Besides,” Jon said, shifting to stand beside him. “This way we get to talk more. You’ve got to stop hiding out.”

The line took two tiny steps forward, and they followed suit. “How are you and Tom doing, anyway?”

Jon pursed his lips together before shrugging, clearly uncomfortable. “I think he finds dating a little less fun than flirting on the sly.” He gave Pete a small smile when he reached out to touch Jon’s shoulder in support, before shrugging again. “It’s just an odd patch. We’ll get through it. And at least we’ve always got the gallery to talk about, right?”

“Do you think dating is less fun than flirting behind your girlfriend’s back?”

“I prefer having an actual relationship,” Jon admitted, glancing at Pete. “That’s real, at least, you know? Kind of like why I prefer photographs to art. Maybe.”

“Yeah,” Pete agreed, considering. He tried to compare how different his own life was to before big words like “relationship” and “boyfriend” had started being bandied about – and couldn’t come up with anything more than changing the name of movie night to date night. He tried, instead, to compare how different his own life would be if he could tell someone what was actually going on, and again, came up shorthanded.

“You okay?” Jon asked, looking him over. “Did you go into a food coma or something? I’ve got a mint if you’re that desperate.” He looked forlornly at the 20 or so people between them and the front door, and sighed.

Pete shook his head slowly. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

Jon glanced back over, curious. “We all sort of figured.”

“What? Really?”

“You’re a lousy liar. And the last time you went missing, it was because of Ashlee. Before that, it was that Jeanae girl. Who was the one before that?”

“Mikey,” Pete sighed, and Jon nodded quickly.

“Yeah, yeah. I liked him. So who’s this new person? Are they as bad at poker as Mikey was? You should bring them around if they are. I could use the money.”

“Joe. His name is Joe. And I don’t know how he is at poker.”

“Well,” Jon said, taking a few more steps forward with the line. “You should bring him over. We’d all like to meet him.”

That, however, would have meant introducing him to Ashlee. While Pete didn’t really assume the two knew each other, there was always the chance she’d have spotted Joe on campus, or that someone would question how they’d met and the whole, student-teacher thing would come up. It seemed safer waiting until after the semester was over, when there was far less damage that could be done.

“Maybe,” Pete found himself saying, squinting in the harsh sunlight. “Things are just busy right now, with finals coming up.”

“Your birthday, then,” Jon said, and something about his tone suggested the conversation was over. Pete felt his stomach knotting up, and suddenly the urge to eat anything was gone, even as they took another step closer to the entrance.

\---

Joe had taken the news of having to meet Pete’s friends better than Pete had really anticipated – he was excited, actually.

“You know you can’t say you’re my student, right?” Pete asked him warily, watching him move around the kitchen, gathering the ingredients for pancakes. It was the only food either of them seemed to know how to cook, but his stomach wasn’t complaining. Especially when Joe mixed in blueberries.

“No shit,” Joe laughed, leaning over across the counter for a quick kiss. “But I want to meet your friends. They’ve got to be cool, right? Otherwise, they wouldn’t be your friends.”

Pete considered the logic, but he still crossed his arms, eyeing Joe. “You can’t drink too much, then. You’re mouthy when you’re drunk.”

“And you’re mouthy all the time. I’m not going to tell them, Pete.” He turned around, giving Pete a soft, knowing smile. “But only on one condition.”

“Can I blow you after we eat? I’m really hungry.”

Joe sneered – Pete could tell, even without seeing his face – and flipped one of the pancakes over. “No, asshole. I want to take you somewhere first, before we do whatever your friends have planned.”

“You know you can’t seduce me if we’re meeting up with them at 9, right? That’s not nearly enough time.”

“I think you overestimate your stamina.” Pete opened his mouth to protest, but Joe laughed, switching out the pancakes. “Anyway, my surprise is not sex.”

“I don’t think I want it, then…”

Joe laughed again, louder, and moved across the kitchen for another kiss – this one longer, and he made sure to bite at Pete’s lower lip, just the way he knew Pete liked it. “Oh,” he said, as he pulled back slowly, a smile spreading across his face. “You will definitely like this.”

\---

As it turned out, Joe knew what he was talking about. He’d been hesitant to cut into their afternoon of using out the handcuffs Joe had thoughtfully wrapped up and put on the end of the bed for when Pete woke up, and even more hesitant when Joe had taken him to the train station heading downtown.

There were too many people downtown, and while Pete loved the buzz and rush of crowds, it also seemed to increase the odds they knew someone. “It’s almost finals,” Joe sighed, pushing Pete into the open car. “Everyone is shut in their rooms studying, which is what I should be doing, so stop being a pansy and let me take you out.”

Pete got on the car, but he still glared at Joe before finding two empty seats.

They wound up by the Field Museum, and for a moment, Pete thought they were heading in to see the latest Pirate exhibit Pete had been talking about trying to see for the last few weeks, but Joe grabbed his hand and began leading him away, instead toward the aquarium.

“You know I’ve been here before?” Pete asked, and even in his head, he was trying to quiet the voice that kept speaking up and making him out to be an asshole. Joe’s palm was sweaty in his own, but he refused to let go of Pete’s hand, leading them through the tourists and up the steps toward the entrance.

“I know,” Joe said, when they finally reached the inside. He pulled out two tickets and slid one into Pete’s open hand, catching his gaze for a moment. “But maybe this is going to be different.”

“Are we swimming with dolphins?” Pete asked, starting to smile, even as Joe rolled his eyes and pulled him onward, toward the seahorses.

It only took a few minutes before they both really got into it, moving from exhibit to exhibit, each trying to outdo the other on what they knew about the types of fish. Though even Pete had to admit they weren’t really evenly matched, and halfway through took to making up information.

Pete kept trying to steer them down to the lower level, where he knew the penguins were, but Joe seemed intent on seeing them last. “It’s your birthday,” he argued, pressing his nose against Pete’s neck. “I know you want to see the dolphins more.”

And he did. There was nothing to see from the second floor – the water was always too murky topside, and he much preferred the bottom floor’s view, where they could sit along the edge of the tank and watch the dolphins dancing in spirals on the other side of the glass, moving effortlessly through the water.

“They’re cool,” Joe smiled, leaning closer to the glass, as though he could see them better. A show was going on above them, and from their vantage point, they could see the dolphins gaining momentum before shooting upward, performing whatever tricks above the water.

“I’d love to live somewhere there were real dolphins,” Pete sighed, tapping the tank lightly.

Joe nodded thoughtfully, reaching for his hand again. “Yes, yes, I know. Leave nature alone, don’t feed the raccoons.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Well, don’t. But maybe it’s good they’re here, you know? Protected. No one’s trying to kill them out here.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Pete?”

He shrugged, trying to straighten out the thoughts in his own head. “I think nature should be left alone. But if people aren’t going to leave it alone, then…”

Joe sighed, giving his hand a light tug and pulling Pete to his feet. “You can’t save the world all be yourself.”

Pete’s smile was genuine this time. “I can try, right? Besides, maybe I can’t do it alone, but with a sidekick, sure.”

The resulting smile Joe gave him could have blinded, but he didn’t give Pete much time to consider that before he was dragging him further down the hallway, to an information desk. Pete eyed him curiously, glancing toward the penguin exhibit just a few feet away from them.

“Trohman, checking in?” he said, quickly handing over his ID. The woman behind the counter smiled politely at them and nodded, motioning for them to wait while she wandered off.

Pete grinned slowly. “ _Are_ we swimming with the dolphins?”

Beside him, Joe laughed, bumping their shoulders lightly. “Afraid not. This one’s a little more up my alley, but… I wanted to show you. Um, my parents did this for me for my bar mitzvah.”

“Am I becoming a man today? Wait, we’re not swimming with sharks or something, are we?”

Joe snorted, turning to pull him toward an open door where a man in a heavy winter coat was currently motioning them forward. “You and I both know the sharks here wouldn’t eat anything bigger than a ham sandwich.” He paused, poking at Pete’s stomach. “Then again…”

“Asshole,” he mumbled, swatting at Joe’s hand.

He followed Joe and the other man through the door away, which led to a long corridor with multiple rooms, most of which were marked by either species or function.

“I’m Nick Wheeler,” the guy in the coat said, finally turning around to look at them, offering them a kind smile. “Now, whose birthday is it?”

Pete’s hand shot up in the air while Joe laughed, giving him a light shove. “Me, me, pick me.”

Nick’s smile remained unchanged, but he nodded and opened the door under the sign marked ‘Staff Only’. “Well, happy birthday, then. If you’ll just go in, my associate Tyson will help you get dressed to go into the penguin exhibit. I’ll be back in just a moment.”

The second the door was closed, Joe held up his hands up quickly. “I swear, it’s cool. You’ll like it.”

Pete laughed, surprised, and leaned over to pull Joe into a tight hug. “Are you fucking kidding me? You thought I wouldn’t like this?”

He shrugged, though it was awkward given that Pete still had his arms wrapped firmly around Joe, with no immediate sign of letting go. “Penguins are my thing. I just thought…”

“This is awesome,” Pete argued, turning his head to kiss Joe. Then, softer, he whispered, “I love you” and felt Joe smiling, even with his eyes still closed.

\---

“We saw penguins,” Pete said, moving inside to pull Jon into a hug. “We touched penguins. They kept standing on Joe’s feet, it was fucking cool. The trainers said they don’t usually do that.”

Behind him, Joe gave a small wave to the group of people gathered around, all clearly sizing him up. Ashlee in particular looked less than impressed, but the rest were smiling, and as soon as Jon managed to untangle himself from Pete, he moved straight for Joe, pulling him into a bear-size hug. “Welcome! Beer?”

“I like you,” Joe said, sighing gratefully as he took the bottle. “Where has Pete been hiding you all these months?”

“That’s what we keep asking about you,” Ashlee said, half-hidden behind Tom, but Pete managed to catch her eye and give her a warning glare anyway.

Joe smiled, but Pete could tell he was nervous now that they were here. The whole ride from the aquarium, he’d been unable to sit still, to the point where even some of the homeless men on their train were starting to give him dirty looks. He was hiding it better now – but Pete still recognized the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and the way his laugh at Jon’s joke was lower than usual, like it was all for show.

Under the table, as Ashlee cut the cake she’d brought over to Jon’s place, Pete made sure he gripped Joe’s hand just a little bit tighter.

“So tell us about yourself,” Jon said, somewhere into his second beer and leaning rather close to Joe. “Beyond that you’re the penguin-whisperer.”

“I’m hardly a penguin-whisperer. I just like them, that’s all. I want to work with them, after I graduate.”

Pete twisted Joe’s hand under the table, but he could already see Ashlee’s expression shifting, the wheels behind her head turning.

“Is that how you met, then?” she asked, and though the smile she turned on them both was sweet and charming, Pete at least knew better. He sort of wished he and Joe had developed some sort of hand gestures to let the other know when they were treading into dangerous water. “Did you meet at the aquarium or something?”

Joe’s smile back was just as polite. “Nah. We met at a bar, actually, back in December. We just had more in common than we thought.”

“December?” Jon asked, frowning on concentration.

Pete groaned, quietly, and leaned his head forward, waiting. A moment later, Jon let out a startled laugh, setting his beer bottle down hard on the table. “Holy shit, you’re him.”

“Him?” Ashlee asked, frowning at Jon. “Him who?”

Jon grinned, turning his sights on Pete. “This is that kid who threw up on you!”

Joe’s cheeks started to redden, but Pete just laughed – it was better to amuse Jon than to shoot him down. It was a bit like kicking a puppy, and besides, this way, it was all over faster. “Yes, yes, will you stop it?”

Jon let out another laugh, shaking his head slowly at Pete. “That’s crazy. But yeah, yeah, whatever. Only because it’s your birthday, though.” He started to raise the bottle to his lips again, but paused, laughing more to himself this time. “Must be looove if you two dated after that.”

The comment probably would have gone mostly unnoticed if Joe’s cheeks hadn’t turned a darker shade of red, but when they did, the mood at the table seemed to shift. Even Ashlee seemed willing to let the questions she obviously wanted to ask slide, at least for the night.

Somewhere after Nightmare Before Christmas, but before the end of Labyrinth, they all found themselves on Jon’s balcony, passing around a joint.

“I could get fired for this,” Pete laughed, trying to ignore the noise Joe made from where he was sitting at Pete’s feet, legs stretched outwards. He took a hit anyway, before passing it on to Tom, who was only half paying attention from where he was curled up into Jon’s side on the other side of the balcony. Ashlee was watching them all with a vague sense of boredom, or perhaps she was simply studying them, like lab rats, waiting for one wrong move. But he knew Ashlee well enough to know that while she enjoyed fitting together pieces of whatever puzzle life seemed to throw her way, she was less fond of creating her own puzzles meant for others to solve. Life was complicated enough as it was.

“Hey,” Joe argued, several moments too late, but Tom willingly passed the joint back. Something about the way Joe held it in his hand suggested to Pete that this was far from the first time he’d done this, and made him wonder why they both hadn’t been taking advantage of that fact sooner. It had been far too long since Pete had felt this at ease with the world, even if his brain always seemed to start over thinking when he was high.

He’d always thought the point of pot was to mellow you out. He didn’t mind, though.

“I want to move to where there are penguins,” Joe sighed, tilting his head back to look up toward the stars.

“Yeah?” Jon asked, and his voice sounded further away from where he really was. Pete’s legs were starting to feel tired, too, so he slid down to the wooden floor below him, wrapping an arm instinctively around Joe when he pressed closer. “I want to move to Union Hall.”

Ashlee frowned, looking over at him. “Is that a building? You want to be homeless?”

“Shh,” Joe argued, waving his hand at her. “He can be homeless if he wants.”

“I don’t _want_ to be homeless,” Jon laughed, trying to focus his attention on Ashlee. “It’s a town. In Ireland. I took photos there this one time, when I went on a study abroad program.”

“Dublin,” Pete said, nodding slowly. “I visited you, right?”

“Yeah. Awesome beer.” He sounded wistful, and for a moment, Pete could still taste that beer. But then Joe was pressing his nose into Pete’s neck and pawing at his shoulder.

“We could go to Dublin,” he said, and Pete nodded. They could. “We won’t, though,” Joe finished a moment later, when the moment seemed to stretch on.

“No,” Pete agreed, though he wasn’t really certain what he was agreeing to. Maybe the pot did make him more mellow than he remembered.

Ashlee sighed again, finishing off the last of her glass of wine. He swore it had been full just a few minutes ago. “I hate you all when you’re high.”

“Shh,” Joe said again, and soon, they all joined in until they were laughing – even Ashlee.

\---

“Who is he?” Ashlee asked, narrowing her eyes at him. She’d made it to Monday at school, which was longer than Pete normally would have given her credit for, but then again, there were final exams to be made up, so perhaps she’d been busier than normal. He knew he certainly had been.

Still, even without her full attention focused on Pete, it seemed safer to play dumb. “Who is who?”

She frowned, moving to block his exit from the faculty lounge. There was no one else around – no one but Professor Hoppus ever really used the marine biology department’s lounge anyway, and even he had sworn off coffee for the week. “Joe.”

“Well, if you know who he is, why are you asking me?”

“Pete,” she started again, taking a few steps closer. “If you were hiding him because he was an asshole, or he was some dumb blonde, or some other reason, then okay. But he’s none of those things, which means there’s something else you’re hiding.”

When he looked up from stirring his coffee, she was even closer now. Her expression remained unchanged, though – she still had that same annoyed look of worry.

He sighed. “You might as well say whatever you’re thinking?”

“He’s a student, isn’t he?” Her voice was softer now, and he almost appreciated that. At least if she was going to tear his career down, she might feel sorry about that. One day, he was sure he’d appreciate that.

Pete stared at her, silent, until she gave a small nod. “I’m not going to tell anyone,” she said, just as quiet, and she reached out a hand to rest it gently on his shoulder. “I wish you’d told us, though.” When she pulled back, the annoyance was gone from her expression – but the worry wasn’t. “Just be careful, okay, Pete?”

“I promise,” he said, and pulled her into a loose hug. “I know what I’m doing. It’s just one more week until the semester is over.”

But all the same, it felt like a weight had been lifted off him when she smiled at him again, and nodded.

\---

Wednesday was the worst day of Pete’s entire life. He’d said things like that before – after particularly long, grueling days where his students seemed to refuse to learn anything even though he’d slaved for hours over his lesson plans, or when girlfriends past had cheated on him and it somehow wound up with him on his knees in front of their houses, either begging for forgiveness or a swift death.

But that Wednesday in May was truly the worst day of Pete’s entire life.

“We broke up,” Jon said when he showed up in Pete’s office at 9 in the morning, leaning his head against the doorframe and looking like he hadn’t slept at all. Pete moved quickly to pull him into a hug, maneuvering him toward the sofa.

“What the hell happened? You two were fine last week.” He replayed his birthday party through his head, trying to come up with any odd behavior between Jon and Tom, but all he could remember were stolen kisses in corners and their hands, never more than a few inches apart.

Jon shrugged, closing his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said, softly. “It all just sort of came out last night. I feel guilty for what I did to Cassie, and he thinks maybe he wanted me more because I was unavailable.” He laughed, tired. “We’re both miserable, Pete. So we ended it.”

“Shit, man.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Just, let me e-mail my advisor to cancel a meeting, and we’ll get out of here. Go do whatever you like.”

Jon gave a small nod while Pete hurried back to his computer. He’d been in the process of typing an e-mail to Joe, about dinner plans for later, but he opened a new e-mail window and quickly wrote out a letter explaining there’d been an emergency and he’d reschedule the meeting.

“Can we get Starbucks?” Jon asked, and Pete looked up at him, giving him the brightest smile he could muster.

“Of course,” he said, quickly pressing send on the two e-mails and rising to his feet. “Let’s go.”

While standing in the line at Starbucks, Pete’s phone vibrated several times with texts from Mark, but he ignored them, assuming they were to goad him for canceling the meeting later. He’d answer them later – the important thing, for now, was to make sure Jon got his chocolate mocha fix in before the late-morning crowd came in.

But when Joe called, Pete excused himself to step into a corner by the coffee mugs for sale and answer.

“Hey,” Pete said, glancing toward where Jon was sitting by himself, looking small and worn-down as he stared at his still mostly-full cup. “I can’t talk long, something sorta came up.”

“You said it was an emergency,” Joe said, and the other end crackled for a moment. “What’s this meeting we were supposed to have that you canceled, though?”

“What?”

Joe laughed, sounding confused. “You said we’d have to reschedule our meeting. Is that what we’re calling it now? Oh. Hey, someone else is calling, can I call you back?”

But Pete didn’t answer, already scrolling along the screen of his phone to get to his messages, his heart feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest, at any moment. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he hadn’t mixed up the e-mails, maybe…

__  
From: Mark Hoppus  
Message: We need to talk. NOW. Get back to the office. 

Pete just barely managed to make it outside before he threw up.

\---

He’d spent the day behind closed doors within the university, questioned by the authorities and his superiors. At one point, he’d seen Ashlee and several of his other students being pulled into various other rooms for questioning as well, and it made his stomach turn that anyone else was being dragged into this, that he’d put Ashlee at risk of being fired over this.

They’d been so, so, incredibly stupid.

Mrs. Trohman – and he knew her from the pictures he’d seen around Joe’s dorm room – stared at him as he made the long, silent trek to his office, escorted by a security officer to gather his belongings before he was to vacate the premises.

Pete’s lawyer told him he was damn lucky, but Pete didn’t feel particularly lucky at all.

Mark hadn’t yelled at him before he delivered the news, but he had leaned across the table, staring Pete down, and asked quite calmly, “Do you understand that you abused your position?”

In all his years of pulling stupid pranks and breaking rules set up by whatever authority he deemed unimportant at that given point in time, Pete had never felt smaller or more guilty than he did in that instant.

Jon was waiting for him with the car when the security guard walked him out of the building, but he knew better than to try and hug Pete. Instead, he simply turned on the radio, willing to drive them home in silence.

“We should start over somewhere else,” Jon said, glancing at him once. There was the faintest hint of a smile there, like he was willing to let Pete either brush him off or jump on the opportunity.

Pete just leaned his head against the glass of the passenger window, staring out at the street cars whizzing past them. “Where the hell would we go? You can’t erase this.”

“We could go to California, like you always talked about,” Jon said, and for the first time, he reached across for Pete’s hand. “Or maybe Antarctica.”

Pete winced, pulling his hand free. “I don’t want to fucking talk about Antarctica,” he hissed. He tried to imagine Mark explaining to all of the donors Pete had spent hours convincing to give him the time of day that they’d been wrong, that Pete was never going to amount to anything, that they’d cut him loose.

“Dublin,” Jon said, trying again. “Or that little coast town I was telling you about.”

He paused, mulling that thought over for a moment. “What’s there?”

“Well, nothing, really. But we could go to France, maybe. Get fat on cheese and drink a lot of wine. Do the French still have beer, though?”

“I like the place with nothing,” Pete said, cutting off his train of thought. “Let’s try that for a change.”

And any other day, Jon would have assumed Pete was joking, and Pete would have thought the same of Jon. But they stared at each other across the short distance of the car, and nodded.

A new start.

\---

Pete had been hoping to get out without Joe showing up – he had the note he was going to leave already written in his head, he just had to find a pen and some paper to get the words out – but there was no luck left in the world for Pete.

He’d come storming in, slamming the door so hard behind himself that the picture frames rattled on the wall, even in the bedroom where Pete was busy trying to stuff the contents of his life into the suitcase he’d bought when he started planning the research trip to Antarctica.

“I hate my parents!” Joe shouted from the living room, and Pete could hear him kicking his shoes off, the dull thud they made as they landed somewhere on the wooden flooring. “They had the nerve to ask me if I wanted to press charges, can you believe that? God!”

He came stumbling into the bedroom, pulling Pete tightly against him, like he was trying to breath him in. Pete closed his eyes, but didn’t break the contact.

Then, Joe noticed the suitcase, and pulled back a little. “Are you going somewhere?”

This time, Pete did push him off the rest of the way. This was hard enough as it was, but he’d done enough damage. He just had to make it out that door, then their lives could go back to some semblance of normal, then Joe’s life could get better again. “Go home, Joe.”

Joe frowned, reaching for his hand. “Pete? Hey, talk to me.”

Pete shrugged him off again, trying to pack faster. He began shoving in socks and underwear, mentally marking off anything he cared about – he’d gotten the watch his father had given him, though his diploma and the stuffed seal Jon had gotten him were sitting somewhere in the bottom of a trash bin outside right about now.

“Pete?” Joe asked again, and he was starting to sound frantic. Pete wished he’d just shut up, that he’d never come over at all. This all would have been so much simpler if he’d just…

“Pete!” Joe repeated, and he grabbed at Pete’s hands, trying to still their frantic movement of shoving more clothes into his suitcase. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Pete laughed bitterly, shaking fingers throwing another shirt into the suitcase. “And what, I should stay here? I don’t have a job here anymore.”

“You can get another one!” There was no mistaking that Joe was crying now, but Pete had to fight back his own tears. In five minutes, he’d be in the car with Jon, heading for the airport and away from all of this. He just had to make it through five more minutes. Joe reached for the suitcase, but Pete snatched it back.

“You think it works like that? That the next university isn’t going to call here and hear all about how I slept with a student? No one hires you after something like this.”

He wasn’t leaving over the job, but there was no way he was going to get past the door if Joe thought otherwise. No way Pete would let himself leave. And to had to, for Joe’s sake. It was the only way either of them was going to have a shot at a decent future, especially Joe. He’d fucked it all up, so badly.

“You could get another job, doing something else,” Joe whispered. “Anything else.”

Pete sneered, and started to zip up his bag, but Joe threw himself on top of it, putting himself in Pete’s way. “We could make it work. We could go to Antarctica like we planned, or we could run off to Mexico together, or work tables for the rest of our lives, but we’d be together, Pete. Don’t you want that?”

“You’re 19,” Pete snapped. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I do!” Joe shouted, and when Pete gave a hard tug on the strap of the bag, Joe pulled back just as hard. Pete stumbled a few inches in his direction. “I love you, we could do this. None of this other stuff matters, just you and me. Please Pete. Please.”

Pete watched him, the fight draining from his eyes, and for a moment Pete tried to imagine that things would work out if he stayed – that they could slide back into being them, even without Pete’s job, or the support of anyone around them. But even the image in his head was blurry at best, and then he was yanking the bag out from under Joe and hoisting it over his shoulder, away from Joe. “Go get a degree somewhere else.”

“I don’t care about a degree. Where are you going? Let me come with you.”

He was going to follow him. Pete knew that look – it was the same one Joe had given him months before, when he’d seemed hell-bent on getting Pete’s attention in that club. But not this time. Pete knew better, and he smiled, staring Joe down as he whispered, ““Somewhere no one will ever find me, especially you,” and walked out of the apartment, closing the door behind him.

Nothing had ever hurt so much in Pete’s entire life.

\---

 

**Epilogue**

 

The bus ride into Union Hall felt like the longest ride of Joe’s entire life. He’d been the only one unable to sleep on the flight in from New York, and even a flight attendant’s offer of mixing a sleeping pill into a cup of milk hadn’t settled his nerves.

The plane ride, though, was nothing compared to this. Since he’d landed in Cork and caught the bus, it seemed as though they were stopping at every street corner between there and the ocean.

Joe was slowly going insane.

He checked, for the hundredth time, that he still had the address Tom had given him tucked inside his jacket pocket. The handwriting was faint and blurred from writing too fast, but it was still there.

_”He may not even be there,” Tom had said over the phone, hesitating over the other line. “But Jon gave me this other address to send packages to, so it seems like a safe bet.”_

_There was no proof that Pete had followed Jon, but it was the best lead Joe had come up with. Even Pete’s own parents didn’t seem to know where he was, and Joe had already called up every one of Pete’s friends he’d been able to find a listed number for, and the results had been months of dead ends. This was the closest he’d come._

_“Just give me the damn address,” Joe had hissed into the phone, reaching down to press a hand against his leg, which refused to settle. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through a whole night, and it was starting to wear on him. He closed his eyes, gripping the receiver tighter in his hand. “Please, Tom.”_

_“Just, be careful,” Tom had said, before reading off the address – and then Joe had been out the door, ready to book the next flight to Ireland._

After what felt like hours, the bus pulled to a jerky stop in front of a line of shops, and the driver in front called, “Union Hall.” There were no belongings to gather, so Joe just hurried to the exit, stumbling out onto the empty, gravel road, taking a good, long look around.

There were a few apartments and pubs nearby, but nothing that really looked open. The only thing that did, at this hour, was a small convenience store, with a wreath of pretty blue flowers tied to the front door. Joe pulled out the address from his pocket again – but there was no need, he’d memorized the address hours before, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean – and stepped inside.

“Hello?” he called, glancing around. There were shelves of food and various odds and ends – including an entire section devoted to harmonicas – but it mostly looked untouched. A girl, around his age, with bright, curly blonde hair sat behind the counter, her attention focused on the dusty book she held in her hands.

“Thank you, thank you,” Joe sighed, moving quickly to stand in front of her. The girl slowly lowered the book, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. “I need to find someone. Um, somewhere. I’m looking for 251 West Mill Creek, do you have _any_ idea where that is?”

The girl hesitated, still staring at him. “I’m new,” she said slowly, giving him a nervous smile. “I really just moved here about two weeks ago, I don’t know my way around that well…”

“Fuck.” Joe sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was far from over, though. He’d walk up and down every street in the area until he found the one he was looking for, if he had to.

“Who are you looking for?” she asked, leaning closer across the counter. “They have me to deliveries sometimes. I’m better with visual directions than street names.”

“Wentz. Pete Wentz. He’s about my height, has black-”

“Oh!” She smiled quickly at him, moving to step around from behind the counter. “Yes, I know him. He’s new too. Buys a lot of candy.”

He was here. Pete was somewhere in the vicinity. Joe could feel his heart rate speeding up, and he had to take a steadying breath to calm himself.

“You know where he lives?”

She nodded, motioning him to follow as she stepped out onto the front porch of the shop. “There,” she said, pointing down a dirt road nearby that seemed to lead off into the distance. “He lives about half a mile down there.”

“I love you!” he shouted, as he took off running in the direction she’d pointed.

“I’m Greta,” she shouted back, and Joe made a mental note to go back later, and thank Greta in person. That was, of course, assuming that Pete wanted to see him at all.

His pace started to slow as the numbers on the houses grew closer to the one he was looking for. He hadn’t let himself consider too much the possibility that once he got here, that Pete might want nothing to do with him. It was his fault that Pete had lost his job, his fault that he’d lost his grant money and his research opportunity. His fault that Pete had moved to an entirely different continent.

“Shut up, Joe,” he whispered, and came to a stop in front of 251 West Mill Creek. It was an actual house – much bigger than the apartment he’d had in Chicago. _Maybe Pete has a life here_ , the voice in his head whispered, and it took Joe five minutes of standing in the street, staring up at the house, before he could work up the courage to knock.

Inside, a dog began to howl, and Joe felt the panic rising up in his chest, that maybe he’d gotten the wrong house after all. But a moment later, he heard Pete’s voice inside, saying, “Shush, Hemmy, seriously” just before the door swung open, and there, standing in front of him, was Pete.

His hair had grown out from the close shave he’d always kept at the university, and Joe could see the bags under Pete’s eyes, even before those eyes were widening in recognition. And then, Pete was trying to close the door again, but Joe reached out a firm hand to stop him, shaking his head slowly.

“Please,” he whispered, trying to lodge himself in front of the door. “Please, just talk to me.”

“You shouldn’t have come,” Pete said, even as he reached out a tentative hand to touch Joe’s arm, as though checking to see if he really was there. “I told you to stay behind for a reason.”

“I found you,” Joe said, and tried to force a smile. “Finder’s keepers.”

Pete sighed, but he opened the door a fraction more, and when he stepped back, Joe took it as an invitation to come inside.

The dog – Hemmy – began sniffing at his feet, and it took some maneuvering around him to get fully inside and close the door without tripping. Joe tried to focus his attention on that, instead of the way Pete was staring at him like he was a ghost, from some better-forgotten past.

“I guess I’m not as good at hiding as I thought I was, huh?” Pete asked, leaning against the wall across from where Joe was hovering, trying to feel out how he fit into this house – into this life. There were no pictures of girlfriends or boyfriends lining the entryway, and Pete hadn’t shot him down entirely yet. There was hope.

“Maybe I just get you.”

Of all the things Joe had been expecting to happen, he’d never really imagined that less than a second later, he’d have Pete wrapped firmly around him, pulling him into a hug and trying to squeeze the life out of him. He found himself squeezing back, just as hard, desperate.

“I _missed_ you,” Pete whispered into his neck, his fingers clawing a little at the fabric of his shirt, trying to find something to hold onto. “I can’t believe you came.”

Joe laughed, closing his eyes tightly. “What? You think I’m that easy to get rid of?”

Pete shook his head slowly, moving to stand on his tip-toes to press a kiss against Joe’s lips. It started out slow and nervous, but after only a moment, he had one leg wrapped around Joe’s waist and them both pressed firm against the wall. “Stay,” he said, choking on the word, and Joe nodded, firm.

“I’m not going anywhere, even if you try to kick me out again. I love you. Don’t you get that, Pete? I love you.”

Pete pressed their foreheads together, drawing in a shaky breath. “I love you too, Joe.” Then, he began to smile, still nervous. “What about the penguins?”

“Pete,” he laughed, leaning in for another kiss. “Fuck the penguins right now, seriously.”


End file.
